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THREE MONTHS 


Under the Snow 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 

J. J. PORCHAT 

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NEW YORK: HUNT & EATON 
CINCINNATI: CRANSTON & CURTS 
1892 



T 62 -^ 2 . 



INTRODUCTION. 


Remarkable as are tlie events recorded 
in this journal, this story is not a work of 
the imagination. It would not surprise 
any one who is acquainted with these 
mountainous countries, and the accidents 
to which their inhabitants are exposed. 

Since this history has been put together 
not merely to amuse, but also to instruct, 
we will describe in a few words the 
places where the circumstances happened, 
as well as the hard and laborious life of 
the inhabitants of the Jura. This will 
render the recital both more clear and 
more interesting. 

The Jura is a chain of mountains formed 
of several parallel chains, running from 


6 


INTRODUCTION. 


Basle, in Switzerland, into France, and 
skirting the department of the Doubs, the 
Tura, and the Ain, in a direction from 
N.N.E. to S.S.W. It is about one hundred 
and twenty-five miles in length, and from 
thirty-five to thirty-six in breadth. The 
Jura contains a great number of valleys, 
and some of its peaks are of great height. 
Among these are distinguished Le Reculet , 
which is nearly seven thousand feet above 
the level of the sea ; the Dole and Mont 
Tendre , which are above six thousand five 
hundred. 

It is important to understand these de- 
tails, because it is in a great measure the 
difference in the height of the mountains 
which renders them more or less habitable, 
for the atmosphere becomes colder in pro- 
portion to their height, and vegetation 
more scarce in proportion to the shortness 
of the summer; the snow descends upon 
them at a very early season, and there are 
some mountains so high that the snow 
never entirely melts upon them. 

But all the mountains of the Jura divest 
themselves of the snow every year; some 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 


vegetation is to be seen even on the highest 
peaks ; on many points they are covered 
with magnificent forests of beech, oak, 
and particularly pines, while other parts 
offer excellent pastures, where they feed 
the finest cattle, oxen, sheep, and goats. 
Nevertheless these fine mountains are not 
habitable for more than five months in the 
year, namely, from May or June until the 
beginning of October. 

As soon as the snows are melted and the 
peaks begin to look green, the villages, all 
built in the valleys or on the lower declivi- 
ties, send forth their flocks to the mountains. 
The day of their departure is a holiday, 
although the poor shepherds are going to 
banish themselves far from their families, 
during the whole of the fine season, to lead 
a hard laborious life, deprived of every com- 
fort. During that time their chief diet is 
milk ; they have only water to drink, and 
pass their whole time in feeding their flocks 
and making those cheeses which are called 
frontages de Gruyere. 

These are made on the mountain. There 
every shepherd has a chalet, a miserable 


8 


INTRODUCTION. 


house, most commonly built of stone. It is 
covered with strips of fir, called bardeaux or 
tavillons (shingles) ; large stones placed at 
intervals press them down with their weight, 
and prevent them from being carried away 
by the storms. The interior of the chalet 
is divided into three compartments ; a well- 
closed stable to lodge the cattle at night ; 
a narrow and cool dairy, where the milk 
is deposited in tubs of whitewood ; and a 
kitchen, serving at the same time for a bed- 
chamber, where the poor herdsman has often 
nothing but straw for his bed. This kitchen 
has a vast chimney, under which there hangs 
an immense caldron, to heat the milk and 
convert it into cheese. 

During the whole time of their remain- 
ing in the mountains, the herdsmen seldom 
see any person except a few strangers who 
are visiting the country. They willingly 
give them their cream, and receive in re- 
turn a little new bread, a very rare delicacy 
in these chalets. However, these herdsmen 
never complain of their lot; they never 
wish to change their condition ; they love 
their rude solitudes, and remain faithful to 


INTRODUCTION. 9 

the customs, the labors, and the hearths of 
their fathers. 

Their summer campaign does not end be- 
fore the feast of St. Denis, the 9th of Oc- 
tober. When they leave the mountain it is 
a holiday, like that of their departure from 
home, but much happier, because they are 
now going to revisit their families. Other 
labors of a different nature now begin at the 
village. These mountaineers, whose only 
resource is in themselves, are very skillful ; 
they make household utensils, tools, furni- 
ture ; and cut and carve a number of pretty 
articles in wood, which, being sold in tho 
neighborhood, are carried to every part of 
Europe. 

During their long winter days the chil- 
dren study under the paternal roof, tho 
way io the school not being always open. 
Gathered round their parents, many chil- 
dren acquire a taste for study, read to- 
gether some interesting book, and thus 
instruct themselves while they amuse their 
family. 

One young villager there is, not of an 
uncultivated mind, and we have therefore 


10 


INTRODUCTION. 


preferred letting him speak for himself. 
He will inform us how he was induced to 
draw up this journal, and how he found <he 
means of doing it, when, by a train of ( ir- 
cumstances with which he will acquaint us 
presently, he found himself with his grand- 
father imprisoned in a chalet. 

We hope, young friends, that you may 
never he exposed to such severe sufferings ; 
hut in the course of your life you will often 
require patience and courage. The example 
of Louis Lopraz will convince you that even 
a child, who, hy the grace of the Holy 
Spirit, puts his trust in God through Jesus 
Christ, is capable of exertions hardly to be 
expected at his age. 

You will learn that the school of affliction 
is often the most useful to a man, and that 
the divine goodness shows itself as clearly 
toward us in adversity as in prosperity. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

REASONS FOR DIARY — DELAY ON THE MOUNTAIN — LEAV- 
ING THE VILLAGE ACCIDENT — CONVERSATION — FALL CP 

SNOW — DIFFICULTIES OF RETURN — DEPARTURE OF THE 

FATHER VIOLENT WINDS “ BLANCHETTE” FIRST 

NIGHT FEARS ON WAKING DIARY — CHIMNEY 

CLEARS A PASSAGE-WAY HOPES OF RESCUE PAGE 13 

CHAPTER II. 

NARROW ESCAPE FROM FIRE CONTINUES SNOWING — 

MEANS OF SUBSISTENCE — FURNITURE OF THE CHALET 
— DISCOVERY OF A BOOK REFLECTIONS — PROBABIL- 
ITIES OF AID FROM THE VILLAGE — FEARS FOR HIS 
FATHER OPPORTUNITIES FOR IMPROVEMENT 34 

CHAPTER m. 

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS — PLAITING 8TRAW — HOPELESS CON- 
DITION CHANGE OF “ BLANCHETTE ” — PLAN OF ESCAPE 

EXERTIONS IN THE SNOW — ACCIDENT — TERRIBLE 

HURRICANE INSTRUCTIVE REMARKS — DANGER OF SUF- 
FOCATION — SEVERE COLD 53 

CHAPTER IV. 

BLANCHETTE — WOLVES — DEPRESSION OF SPIRITS — 80 N- 

DAY IN THE CHALET — DIET EXHORTATION HIS 

GRANDFATHER’S ILLNESS — TUBE — ITS USEFULNESS — 

WRITES FOR HIS GRANDFATHER PRECAUTIONS — 

NEW DISCOVERY 73 


I 


12 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER V. 

CHEERFUL CONVERSATION — LONGS FOR EMPLOYMENT- 
PLAITING STRAW — RELIGIOUS MEDITATIONS — HIS GRAND- 
FATHER’S CONTINUED ILLNESS — HIS REMARKS CONCERN- 
ING DEATH — ATTEMPTS MAKING CHEESE PAGE 96 

CHAPTER VI. 

KIND INSTRUCTIONS — DARKNESS — 8ERIOUS THOUGHTS — 
VILLAGE SCHOOL — SADNESS — THOUGHTS ON NEW- 
YEAR’S DAY — GRANDFATHER’S GIFTS — COMFORTS — 
ALARMING ILLNESS KIND ATTENTIONS GRANDFA- 
THER’S TALK OF DEATH — IMPATIENCE..., 109 

CHAPTER vn. 

MEANS OF LIGHTING — HIS GRANDFATHER’S LAST HOURS 
— HIS PRAYER — PARTING WORDS — HIS DESOLATION 
— THE BURIAL — ADDRESS — READS OVER HIS JOUR- 
NAL 130 


CHAPTER VIH. 

DEPRESSION OF SPIRITS — FEARFUL ACCIDENT — FOOD 

FAILS — DREADS KILLING BLANCHETTE THINKS OF 

LEAVING THE CHALET PREPARES A SLEDGE AT 

HOME — THE RESCUE FROM IMPRISONMENT EMBRACE 

— DESCEND TO THE VILLAGE — HIS FATHER’S TRIALS 

— CONCLUDING REFLECTIONS 163 


THREE MONTHS 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


CHAPTER I. 

REASONS FOR DIARY — DELAY ON THE MOUNTAIN — LEAV- 
ING THE VILLAGE ACCIDENT CONVERSATION — FALL OF 

SNOW — DIFFICULTIES OF RETURN — DEPARTURE OF THE 

FATHER VIOLENT WINDS “ BLANCHETTE*’ FIRST 

NIGHT — FEARS ON WAKING — DIARY — CHIMNEY — 
CLEARS A PASSAGE-WAY — HOPE8 OF RESCUE. 

November 22, 18 — ■. 

Since it is the will of God that I should be 
shut up in this chalet with my grandfather, 
I am about to write down daily whatever 
may happen to us in this prison ; so that if 
we ' should perish in it, our relations and 
friends may know how we passed the latter 
days of our life ; and that, if we are de- 
livered by God’s mercy, this journal may 
preserv: the remembrance of our dangers 
and sufferings. It is my grandfather’s wish 


14 


THREE MONTHS 


that I should undertake this work, in order 
to shorten a little those hours which would 
otherwise seem tedious, and for which it 
would be difficult to find employment. 1 
shall begin by relating what happened to 
us yesterday. 

We had expected my father at the village 
for several weeks. St. Denis was passed, 
and all the flocks had descended from the 
mountain with their shepherds. My father 
alone did not return, and we all asked our- 
selves what could have detained him ? My 
uncles and my aunts assured us that we 
need not be uneasy ; that perhaps there 
still remained some grass to be eaten, which 
was probably the reason why my father 
kept the herds some time longer upon the 
mountain. 

My grandfather at length became alarm- 
ed at the delay : he said, “ I will go myself 
and see what detains Francois; I shall not be 
sorry to pay another visit to the chalet. 
Who knows if I shall be permitted to do 
so next year ? Will you come with me ?” 
added he, looking at me. 

I was just going to ask his leave to ac- 


UNDER THE SNOW. 15 

company him, for we were seldom apart 
from one another. 

We were soon ready to start. We as- 
cended slowly, sometimes threading the 
narrow passes, at others going along the 
side of deep precipices. At about a quarter 
of a league from the chalet, I had the cu- 
riosity to approach a steep declivity, and 
my grandfather, who had already told me 
that this made him uneasy, approached 
rapidly to take me by the hand ; a stone 
which slipped under his foot caused a sprain, 
which gave him acute pain ; but after some 
minutes he was able to walk, and we hoped 
that it would go off. By the help of his 
holly staff, and leaning upon my shoulder, 
he dragged himself hither. 

My father was much surprised to see us. 
He was busy preparing for his departure; 
so that if we had remained quiet at the 
village for one day longer he would ha*e 
arrived himself to put an end to our trouble. 

“You, father!” said he, advancing to 
iupport him ; “ did you think that we had 
met with an accident ?” 

“Yes; we came to see what had de- 


16 


THREE MONTHS 


tained you, when all our neighbors were 
returned.” 

“ Some of our cows were ill ; but they 
are now recovered. I shall send Pierre 
this evening with the remainder of the 
cheeses, and I intend to go down to-morrow 
with the herds.” 

“Are you very tired, Louis?” said my 
grandfather to me. 

The tone in which he put this question 
showed me that he had some secret design, 
and I answered not very clearly. 

“ I was thinking,” added my grandfather, 
that it would be most prudent to send the 
boy with Pierre ; the wind has changed 
within this half hour, and we shall, per- 
haps, have had weather to-night.” 

My father expressed the same fear, ana 
recommended me to follow this advice. 

“ If you wish it,” said my grandfather, 
“ I will go down with you ; a short rest is 
all I require.” 

“ I had rather wait for you,” said 1 to 
my father, embracing him. “A whole 
night’s rest is needful for grandpapa, who 
has hurt his foot through my disobedience.” 


UNDER TI1E SNOW. 


17 


f then related what had happened a short 
distance from the chalet ; and it was agreed 
that we should all go down the next day, 
which was yesterday. 

There was a pot upon the fire, which ray 
father observed that I regarded with some 
degree of impatience. He served us from 
it with a soup made of corn-meal cooked 
with milk, in a tureen, which we all ate, 
like soldiers, out of the same bowl ; after 
which I went to bed. I fell asleep without 
paying much attention to the conversation 
of my grandfather and my father, who 
talked in a low voice for a long time after 
supper. 

The next day, I was much surprised to 
perceive that the mountain wa? quite white. 
The snow was still falling in great abun- 
dance, and driven by a strong wind. This 
would rather have amused me if I had not 
observed the uneasiness which it caused my 
relations. I began to be uneasy myself 
when I saw my grandfather attempt to 
walk a few steps, and drag himself along 
with great difficulty, by leaning on the fur- 
uiture and against the walls. The accident 
2 


18 


THREE MONTH'S 


of the preceding day had caused his foot to 
swell, and he was in great pain. 

“ Go, go,” said he ; “ take away this child 
oefore the snow gets deeper. You see that 
it is impossible for me to follow you.” 

“ And do you suppose, father, that I can 
leave you here ?” 

“ Place your son and the herds in safety 
first, and then you may think about me. You 
can return with a litter to take me away.” 

“ Let me carry you on my shoulders, 
father, and let us set out without delay, I 
beg of you.” 

“ My son, how are you to guide the flock 
and take care of this hoy when so heavily 
laden ?” 

We thus passed a great part of the day 
without deciding upon anything. We were 
in hopes that some one would come from 
home to assist us. I said at length that I 
was big enough to do without a guide, and 
to help my father drive the herds. These 
representations were useless ; my grand- 
father persisted in his resolution. He would 
not expose us to danger by encumbering us 
with his person. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


19 


My father pressed him eagerly and al- 
most angrily. I wept. At length the dis- 
pute ceased, and I may say that it was 
chiefly by my interposition. 

I said to my father, “ Leave me also in 
the chalet. You will arrive the sooner at 
home, and you will return with assistance 
to take us away ; grandfather will require 
some one to wait upon him and keep him 
company ; and it will be an opportunity for 
me to testify my gratitude for all his kind- 
ness. We will take care of one another, 
and God will take care of us both.” 

“ The boy is right,” said my grandfathei , 
u the snow is already so deep, and the wind 
so violent, that I foresee more danger in 
his going with you than in his remaining 
with me. Here, Frangois, take this staff; 
it is very strong and armed with an iron 
point ; it will help you to descend, as it 
assisted me in coming up. Bring the cows 
out of the stable ; leave us the goat, and 
the provisions which remain. I am more 
uneasy about you than ourselves.” 

For a moment my father hung his head : 
looking up suddenly lie caught me in his 


20 


THREE MONTHS 


arms, and I felt his tears upon my checks. 
“ I will not reproach you, my dear Louis, 
hut you see the consequences of your dis- 
obedience : promise me not to he guilty of 
the same again. God has ordained what 
we see ; and I must confess that neither 
your grandfather nor I foresaw the great, 
embarrassment in which we are placed. If 
we had supposed last night that our situa- 
tion would have been so sad to-day, we 
would have profited by the assistance of 
Pierre to take away my grandfather.” 

When I saw my father ready to set out, 
I presented him with a pretty bottle covered 
with straw, in which there remained a small 
quantity of wine, with which I had provided 
myself the day before. 

“ Take this,” said I to him ; “ you will 
want it more than we shall to-day. You 
know that my poor mother gave me this 
bottle the first time that I came to pay you 
a visit in the mountain ; I am glad that it 
is of use at a time of so much importance 
both for you and for us.” 

“ Marie !” cried my father with emotion, 
•* she is at rest !” 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


21 


And he pressed me again in his arms in 
memory of one who was no longer able to 
caress me. 

We brought out the herds, which seemed 
much astonished at finding the earth cov- 
ered with snow. Some of the cows got 
away, and ran round the chalet. At length 
they were set forward on the way ; and in 
a few moments my father disappeared in 
the thick clouds of snow with the flock. 

Though they were no longer visible, my 
grandfather seemed still to follow them 
with his eyes. He leaned upon the window 
without speaking, but his lips seemed to 
move, his hands were clasped, and his eyes 
lifted up to heaven. His attitude recalled 
me to a sense of my duty ; I joined in his 
sentiments, and recommended my father to 
God. We had remained some time in this 
manner, when the wind began to blow with 
greater violence ; thick clouds enveloped 
us, and the night fell almost suddenly 
However, our wooden clock had scarcely 
struck three 

“Great God, have mercy on him !” said 
my grandfather ; “ but he must have passed 


22 


THREE MONTHS 


the forest some time, and he is not exposed 
to this whirlwind. He will he sadly uneasy 
on our account. 

Our minds had been so occupied all day, 
that we had never thought of taking any 
food, and I was very hungry. At this mo- 
ment I called my grandfather’s attention to 
the bleatings of the goat. 

“ Poor Blanchette !” said he ; “ her milk 
is troublesome, and she is calling us. Light 
the lamp ; we will go and milk her, and then 
have our supper.” 

“ And our breakfast, too, grandpapa !” 

This made him smile, and I could per- 
ceive, by the light of the lamp, that he be- 
came more tranquil, which gave me a little 
courage. However, the wind roared vio- 
lently. It rushed among the shingles, 
which shook with its force, so that we had 
some fear that the roof of the chalet would 
he carried away. I lifted up my head 
several times. 

“ Fear nothing !” said my grandfather ; 
t: this house has sustained many similar 
assaults. The shingles are loaded with 
large stones ; and the roof being near- 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 23 

ty flat gives very little hold to tho 
wind.” 

He then made me a sign to go before him, 
and we entered the stable. 

When the goat saw us, she redoubled her 
bleat ings. She seemed ready to break her 
halter by the efforts she made to get to us. 
How greedily she ate the handful of salt 
that I gave her ! Her tongue licked my 
hand over and over again, that she might 
Dot lose a grain. She gave us a good pail- 
ful of milk. I was in great want of it. 
My grandfather said to me when we re- 
turned to the kitchen, “ We must he very 
careful not to forget Blanchette again ; we 
must milk her punctually morning and 
evening ; our life depends on hers.” 

“ Do you think then,” I replied, “ that 
we shall remain here a long time ?” 

“ Perhaps so ; hut there is no knowing. 
We must always hope the best, and take 
precautions as if the worst were sure to 
happen.” 

After supper, I went and filled our nurse’s 
jrib, and gave her fresh litter. I caressed 
aer, I must confess, more lovingly than 


24 


TIIREE MONTIIS 


usual, she seemed also more glad to see 
me. Goats are always fond of company, 
and she is now, poor thing, alone in the 
stable. When she saw me return to the 
kitchen, she began to bleat in the most 
plaintive manner. 

We remained some minutes longer by tho 
fireside; but we were far from being as 
well off here as in our house on the plain. 
The fire-place is as large as an ordinary 
room ; it goes narrowing upward, but the 
opening on the roof is so wide that the snow 
which entered it, driven by the wind, was 
very troublesome to us. It made a dis- 
agreeable noise, as it melted in the fire, and 
we were continually obliged to shake off the 
flakes with which our clothes were covered. 

“ You see, my boy,” said my grandfather, 
“ we shall get no warmth this evening, ex- 
cept in our bed. Let us go and take refuge 
there; the snow will not reach us in that 
shelter ; to-morrow we will try and secure 
ourselves from it in the chimney-corner. 
Let us pray to God, and seek his protection 
through our Lord and Saviour ; he is pres- 
ent everywhere, on the mountain as well 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


25 


as in rhe plain. Were the sncw which 
covers us a hundred times deeper than it is, 
we should not he concealed from his sight*, 
he sees our lifted hands, he hears our feeble 
sighs. Yea, Lord, thou art with us ; we 
will rest without fear under the shadow of 
thy wings.” 

1 was much affected, and never prayed 
with greater confidence than I did last night. 

This morning, when I awoke, I found my- 
self in complete darkness, and at first sup- 
posed that my sleep had quitted me at an 
earlier hour than usual. However, I heard 
my grandfather feeling his way about, and 
I rubbed my eyes, hut did not see a hit 
better. 

“ Grandfather,” said I, “ you are up be- 
fore daylight.” 

“ My dear hoy,” he answered, “ if we were 
to wait for the light of day, we should re- 
main long enough in bed. I fear the snow 
is above the window.” 

At this I uttered a cry of horror, and 
leaped out of bed. I soon lighted our lamp, 
and we were then able to perceive that my 
grandfather’s conjecture was well founded. 


26 


THREE MONTHS 


“ Bu t the window is low,” he add(*l ; 
“ besides, it may be that the snow has been 
heaped up in this part ; perhaps we should 
not see it above two feet deep at some paces 
from the wall.” 

“ Then they will come to rescue us.” 

“ I hope so ;” however, next to God, let 
ns depend in the first place on ourselves. 
Suppose it were his will to keep us shut up 
here for some time, let us see what resources 
we have; and when we have ascertained 
them, we will regulate the use we should 
make of them.” 

“ There is no doubt that the day is come ; 
and the cuckoo clock points to seven ; it is 
fortunate that I did not forget to wind it up 
last night ; this is a precaution we must be 
careful to observe. It is always pleasant to 
know how the time goes ; and we must al 
ways be punctual with Blanchette.” 

Thus we began the day, which seemed 
sad and wearisome. I can no longer hold 
my pen ; grandfather thinks I had bettei 
put off the remainder of my journal till to- 
morrow. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


27 


November 23. 

If this continues I shall scarcely he able 
to write each evening- the history of the day. 
When I was at school, I was often praised 
for the facility with which I executed the 
little compositions given as exercises to the 
higher classes; hut I am far from being 
able to express, especially in writing, all I 
think and feel. I will, however, do my best. 
If these pages should ever he read by 
strangers, they must not forget that they 
were found in a chalet, and that they are 
the work of a school-boy. 

Yesterday morning, when we discovered 
that we were closer prisoners than on the 
former day, we were very sad ; however we 
did not forget our breakfast or the goat. 
While my grandfather was milking her, I 
watched him closely and with great atten- 
tion. 

“ You do well,” said he ; “ you must learn 
to supply my place. You can see that 1 
have some difficulty in stooping to this work. 
Come and try if you can milk her your- 
self.” 

After a short trial I succeeded in squeez- 


28 


THREE MONTHS 


ing out a few drops of milk, but I believe 
I hurt our good nurse, for she started back 
and nearly overturned the milk-pail ; I have, 
since that, both yesterday evening and this 
morning, made two other trials, and have 
succeeded better. 

After breakfast we examined what the 
chalet contained that might be useful to us. 
I will give an account of it another day, for 
fear I should be obliged to stop as I did 
yesterday. 

When we had ascertained what we pos- 
sessed in goods and utensils we were anxious 
to know the state of the weather. I placed 
myself under the chimney, and looked 
through the only aperture which remained 
free in the chalet. After some moments 
the sun shone out suddenly rpon the snow, 
which now rose to a considerable height 
above the opening. I remarked this cir- 
cumstance to my grandfather. We could 
easily distinguish the thickness of the layer 
of snow, because the opening has no chimney- 
pot above the roof. It is a mere hole like 
that of a hayloft. 

“ If we had a ladder,” said my grand- 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


29 


father, “ you could get up and unfasten a 
trap that your father has lately placed 
there, as he told me, to defend himself from 
the cold and rain till the chimney is repair- 
ed, which was in a bad condition when it 
was blown down.” 

“ If the chimney were narrower,” I re- 
plied, “ I should not want a ladder, I could 
climb up like a chimney-sweeper.” 

We remained some moments in thought , 
suddenly my grandfather recollected that 
he had seen in the cow-house a long pole of 
fir, and reminded me of it. I clapped my 
hands with joy. 

“ That is all we want,” I cried ; “ I have 
climbed many trees whose stem was no big- 
ger. The pole has the bark on it still, 
which will make it the easier to climb.” 

But we had to introduce it into the flue, 
and that occasioned some difficulty. For- 
tunately, however, the entrance to it was 
wide and very high, and we succeeded in 
our under taking, being assisted by the flexi- 
bility of the wood. 

I then set to work, having tied a string 
round my waist so as to hoist up a shovel 


60 


THREE MONTHS 


when I was mounted. I succeeded by using 
my feet and hands, and leaning against the 
wall in getting upon the roof. I began by 
making room for myself by shoveling aw ay 
the snow, and I then found it to be about 
three feet deep ; round the chalet it seemed 
to be much more. The wind, indeed, had 
heaped it up, but nevertheless an enormous 
quantity of snow had fallen in a very short 
time. 

All the space that can be seen round the 
chalet is nothing but a white carpet ; the 
forest of pines which surrounds it toward 
the valley, and which bounds the prospect, 
is white like the rest, except the trunks of 
the trees which seem quite black. Several 
of these trees have been broken by the 
weight of the snow ; I saw large branches 
and even stems broken into splinters. 

At this moment a cold icy wind blew from 
the north, the dark clouds which it drove 
before it opened at intervals and let the 
sunshine pass through them, and this daz- 
zling light flitted over the snow with the 
swiftness of an arrow. 

I was quite benumbed with the cold when 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


31 


I wished to explain to grandfather what I 
saw. He perceived that my teeth chatter- 
ed : he told me then to make haste and to 
clear the trap by shoveling away as much 
snow as 1 could round the chimney. This 
labor took up much time, and gave me 
a great deal of trouble, but at the same 
time it warmed me. After having follow- 
ed my grandfather’s directions in every- 
thing, I replaced the cord in a pulley, 
so that the trap might be opened by pull- 
ing it down, and shut again by its own 
weight when the cord was loosened ; this 
cord passed out of the flue and through the 
floor by means of holes made on purpose. 
After making two or three trials to assure 
ourselves of the complete success of the ex- 
periment, I descended much more easily 
than I had climbed up. 

My clothes were quite wet, and I had no 
others. We lighted a bright fire with 
branches and cones of fir ; then lowering 
the trap, and leaving only space enough for 
the smoke to escape, we passed a great part 
of the day in the chimney-corner without 
any other light than the fire, for our pro 


32 


THREE MONTHS 


vision of oil was very small, and it seems 
that we shall not very soon leave our prison. 
We only lighted the lamp when it was time 
tc milk the goat. 

Tt was a new and sad affair to linger out 
the day in this manner. I believe, however, 
that the hours would not have seemed so 
long had it not been for our prolonged hope 
of deliverance. I was always thinking that 
some one would come to our aid ; I got up 
again upon the roof to see if there was any- 
body coming, and never ceased questioning 
grandfather. He said that he hoped my 
father had got home in safety, but that per- 
haps the roads were rendered impassable, or 
the passes stopped up by the snow. 

At length, after having quite closed the 
opening of the chimney, we went to bed 
yesterday, in the hope that some one would 
come to our aid to-day. Alas ! we found 
out this morning that for the present the 
thing is almost impossible. It seems that 
it never ceased snowing all night. We had 
great difficulty in opening the trap ; I suc- 
ceeded at last, and we were able to light 
the fire. I discovered that the snow was 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


33 


two feet deeper than before. Grandfather 
wishes me not to entertain any hopes of 
leaving this tomb before the spring. My 
own captivity is not that which saddens mo 
the most ; the dangers that my father has 
encountered, and, if he has escaped, his 
alarm on our account, trouble me much 
more. 

Last spring I came here to pass some 
days with him, and I had brought pens, 
ink, and paper with me, because he does not 
wish me to be idle when I cannot go to 
school. When I left him I wished to take 
away all that remained of these articles: 
but he said, ‘‘Leave all that in this cup- 
board — you will find it next year in good 
condition.” This is the paper and pens 
which 1 am now using. 


o4 


THREE MONTHS 


CHAPTER II. 

NARROW ESCAPE FROM FIRE — CONTINUES SNOWING -- 
MEANS OF SUBSISTENCE — FURNITURE OF THE CHALET 
— DISCOVERY OF A BOOK — REFLECTIONS — PROBABIL- 
ITIES OF AID FROM THE VILLAGE — FEARS FOR HIS 
F \THER — OPPORTUNITIES FOR IMPROVEMENT. 

November 24. 

I STILL tremble with horror when I think 
of the misfortune that nearly happened to 
us. Can it he believed that, buried ps we 
are under the snow, we have narrowly es- 
caped being consumed by fire ? This is 
another danger which we have to guard 
against. We were sitting before the fire, 
and in order to pass away the time my 
grandfather was making me work some 
sums. I had spread the ashes on the 
hearth, as they do with sand in some 
schools, to trace the figures upon. While 
[ was finishing my little sum we felt an 
an usual degree of heat behind us ; it pro- 
ceeded from a truss of straw which we were 
making use of for plaiting various articles, 
and which I had placed too near the fire- 
place. It was already on fire at one end. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


35 


I wished, to throw myself upon it to extin- 
guish the fire, but I only burned my hands. 
Grandpapa, though he never can rise from 
Ms seat without pain, rushed to the truss 
and carried it off without a moment’s delay, 
all flaming as it was, to the chimney. 

“Remove,” said he, “everything that 
can take fire.” 

I removed all the seats, the provision of 
wood, and everything that was near the 
fire-place. We stood then for a moment 
aghast. The flames continued to increase ; 
we held the truss close against the wall of 
the chimney with the aid of a fork and a 
fire-shovel. We had not a drop of water to 
spare. The chalet was lighted up with the 
red glare ; the smoke could not escape, and 
nearly suffocated us. Still, if we did not 
hold on, the truss would have fallen out, 
and we should have been lost. Bits of 
lighted straw flew about on all sides ; they 
might have fallen upon the bed in the 
sorner of the room, or have set on fire the 
rafters over our heads, or else the partition 
which separated us from the cow-house. A 
truss of straw ought not to take long in 


36 


THREE MONTHS 


burning out, and yet I thought I should 
never see the end of it. At length, how* 
ever, the flames subsided. 

“ Tread quickly,” said my grandfather, 
“ on what is still burning, and extinguish 
the least spark.” He even set me the ex- 
ample himself. In a short time we were 
again plunged in total darkness, hut we 
still continued in some degree of alarm till 
we had ascertained that the fire had not 
caught any part around us. The smoke, in 
its turn, gradually dispersed ; we lighted 
the lamp and found ourselves as black as 
two coal-heavers ; hut, thanks he to God, 
we were safe, both ourselves and our chalet, 
having sustained no injury beyond the hav- 
ing slightly burned our hands and feet. 

We shook off the ashes and dust with 
which we were covered, and my grandfather 
attributing the accident to his own negli- 
gence, said to me : “We can never be too 
quick in repairing our faults. If we had 
had a tub of water at hand we should have 
escaped this danger. We have a large 
empty cask in the dairy ; we must take out 
one end of it and place it on the other near 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


37 


the fire-place ; we will fill it with snow, 
which will soon melt, and we shall have a 
provision of water in case of accident. Let 
us, in particular, be more careful and at- 
tentive. I need not tell you that the burn 
ing of the chalet would be our death ; we 
have no means of escape; such an accident 
is as terrible for us as it would he for sail- 
ors on the wide ocean.” 

We set to work immediately. We open- 
ed the door of the chalet and filled the 
cask, after having placed it in a convenient 
situation. We shall be in no want of snow! 
I felt my heart sink within me, when I be- 
held, on opening the door, that white wall 
which separates us from the whole world. 

November 25 . 

It is God’s will that we should put ou» 
whole trust in him. The snow continues to 
fall abundantly. I have again had much 
trouble in clearing the trap, which was 
loaded with it. We thought it prudent to 
clear the roof also from a part of the weight 
which was pressing upon it. I was em- 
ployed for a long time at this work to-day. 


.58 


THREE MONTIIS 


I left under my feet a layer of snow suffi- 
ciently thick to protect us from the cold, 
and I threw down the rest. 

It is some relief to me to he for a short 
time out of our dungeon, and yet all I see 
around me looks very melancholy. One 
can scarcely now distinguish the uneven- 
ness of the ground round the house ; the 
cistern, which I could perceive plainly yes- 
terday, has now entirely disappeared ; noth- 
ing can he more dismal than the landscape ; 
the earth is white, the sky is black. I have 
read, at school, the account of voyages to 
the frozen ocean and polar regions ; it seems 
to me as if we had been transported there. 
And since the wretched travelers who have 
suffered so much from the cold, and have 
encountered such great dangers, have some- 
times returned to their country, I trust that 
we may also he permitted to see my father 
and our village again. 

We are not altogether unprovided with 
necessaries in our sequestered abode. We 
have found more hay and straw than will 
he required for Blanchette for a whole year. 
If she continues to give us milk, we have a 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


39 


most precious treasure in her. But an un- 
lucky circumstance might deprive us of her, 
and we have been very fortunate in finding 
a small provision of potatoes in a corner of 
the cow-house, which we must hushancL 
We have begun by covering them with 
straw to protect them from the frost. In 
the cow-house also my father had secured 
his stock of wood ; but there is hardly 
enough remaining to warm us during a 
long winter. It is fortunate then that we 
thought of closing the trap at those times 
when we have no very urgent want of a 
fire ; when there is a fear of being without 
fuel, we require other means of keeping 
out the cold. Happily the snow, by which 
we are imprisoned, serves to shelter us at 
the same time. I am surprised how little 
we feel the cold, buried as we are. “It is 
thus,” said my grandfather, “ that the corn 
is preserved so well under the snow.” We 
shall do the same; we shall keep ourselves 
concealed all the winter, and, in the spring, 
we shall put our heads out at the window: 
but fill then it will he very tedious work, 
and God grant that it may all end well. 


40 


THREE MONTHS 


To supply the deficiency of wood we have 
a heap of fir cones, of which I had collected 
a great part myself to burn at home. Hap- 
pily they had not been carried down to the 
village. If the worst comes to the worst, 
we can hut burn the racks and mangers 
that are in the cow-house. In a case of life 
and death we do not look very narrowly 
into these things — it is only acting like sail- 
ors in a storm who throw their merchandise 
into the sea. 

The chalet had been in great part un- 
furnished. What we regret least is the 
large caldron for making the cheese. They 
have left us some of the most needful cook- 
ing utensils, and moreover an ax, but all 
notched, and a saw which will scarcely cut 
at all. We have, each of us, a pocket-knife. 
Scanty as our furniture is, we shall get on 
nevertheless. We regret most our provi- 
sions, for what we have are very miserable. 
What a pity it is that we could not find 
more than three of those loaves that are 
Kept a whole year in the mountain, and at 
length broken in pieces with an ax. 

They were in an old oak tool chest which 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


41 


my father brought up hero some years ago, 
because it took up too much room in the 
house; we have also found some salt, a 
little ground coffee, and a small provision of 
nog’s lard. 

“ Tli is is good,” said I^wfrSft^found this 
last. /W 1 

“ Very much so,” /Laid my grandfather, 
“ hut we must not ijjgly it to <^he R&bs of 
our kitchen ; it will serve fof’ tlf£ lamp if the 
oil should fail us, andiwe l^ave. but little of 
it. Should you not prefer & poorer di^'^o 
as to have light ?” V^. \ ^ J {ft 

“ Certainly,” I replied^ “ how* could we 
endure without it suclA/ftjghts as these, 
which set in at daybreak 

We have hut one bed, hut we^eleep com- 
fortably in it, according to the practice of 
the mountains ; it is large enough to contain 
6ve or six persons. It is placed in a corner 
of the only room in the house, which is at 
the same time the kitchen and the cheese 
manufactory. Only one blanket has been 
left us ; if that is not sufficient we have hay 
and straw; no sheets, no mattress, only a 
coarse straw one. I wish we had a more 


4:2 


THREE MONTIIS 


comfortable one for dear grandfather; a 
good bed makes an old man forget many 
other privations. For myself, who could 
sleep upon the bare ground, and have often 
passed the night in a hay-left, I have noth’ 
ing to regret on this account. “ I only 
wish,” I said, “ that I had the instinct of the 
dormice, and could sleep till the return of 
the fine season.” 

My grandfather immediately pointed out 
to me the folly and ingratitude of which I 
was guilty in expressing such a wish. He 
said to me, “ Let us leave the brutes to en- 
joy such long sleeps ; we have a better part 
to play. True it is God’s will that we 
should suffer, but he ha3 condescended to 
make himself known to us. Here is a 
splendid recompense for all our afflictions ; 
accept it, my son, with gratitude, and fulfill 
the duties which it imposes on you. ‘ Watch/ 
he has said : ‘for ye know not what hour 
your Lord doth come” 

November 26. 

I could add to our inventory many articles 
which may be useful to us, but I shall not 
stop to enumerate them, for I hasten to re- 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


43 


lato a discovery which I have made, and 
which has occasioned to the two poor cap- 
tives the vgrea test joy. 

In examining into the state of our mov- 
ables and provisions, I searched even the 
smallest nooks in the hope of finding some 
books. I knew that my father never went 
up the mountain without taking with him 
several religious works, in order to supply 
to the servants the place of divine worship, 
which they were prevented from attending 
by the distance, by reading to them. But 
it seems that he had sent his little library 
back to the village. 

We regretted much that in our solitary 
confinement we were deprived of this means 
of supporting and consoling ourselves during 
the tedious hours. To-day, perceiving at 
the back of our oak-chest a plank which 
had lodged there, I drew it out, thinking 
that it might be of some use, and at the 
same time there fell out a book covered 
with dust, which had doubtless been mislaid 
for several years. It w r as “ The Imitation 
of Jesus Christ 

In recognizing this work, my grandfather 


44 


THREE MONTHS 


cried out, “ Here is a friend indeed come to 
visit us in our solitude ! My child, Tht 
Imitation is a book written expressly for 
the afflicted; or rather it is a book which 
proves to us, in the most touching manner ( 
that there is hut one evil in the world, 
which is to forget God ; and but one good, 
which is to love him. You see, dear Louis, 
if we are thus separated from the world, we 
are not forsaken : we have already found 
the means of sustaining the life of the 
body; we now possess what will nourish the 
soul; nothing now remains but to know how 
to make a good use of it. 

“ But observe, my boy, by what a succes- 
sion of events we are led, first to feel the 
urgent want of the divine assistance, and 
then to discover this help which had become 
so needful to us. Your father overstayed 
his time some days; we were uneasy, and 
wished to learn the cause of his delay. Had 
we waited one day longer, he would have 
returned ; but we set out. You remember 
the accident which happened to me in the 
way, and which made it impossible for me to 
return the next day. The snow _*ell, and 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


45 


W3 are prisoners. This was the point to 
which the Lord designed to lead us, in order 
x> draw us nearer to himself. After having 
vainly searched for that of which we stood 
in such great need, a religious work, you 
have lighted by chance upon that which we 
despaired of finding. This is one example 
among a thousand of what are properly 
called the ways of Providence. Indeed, it 
has so disposed all the affairs of this world, 
that one seems to spring out of another; 
that we are sometimes visited by joy, some- 
times by grief, and always exercised by trial ; 
for by these vicissitudes of life, in this succes- 
sion of fortunate and unfortunate events, the 
character becomes formed ; we are enabled 
to acquire those virtues which give dignity to 
the Christian; we approach gradually nearer 
to our model ; we imitate Jesus Christ.” 

I answered, “ I need not tell you how 
deeply I am touched by these reflections 
you can perceive it yourself. Since we 
have been here all you have said to me on 
the subject of my duty to God strikes me 
in a new light. Till now, I have prayed 
that I might bo able to follow jour advice, 


46 


THREE MONTHS 


and I yielded to it for the sake of pleasing 
you. Now I experience a new feeling with- 
in me ; I love the Lord most truly ; my 
heart, at the thought oT God, becomes sofb 
ened, as it does when I think of you or of 
my father. Only, since this is a feeling to 
which I am not yet accustomed, and doubt- 
less also because the idea of God is grand 
and awful, my love for him is blended with 
a deep sense of fear, which, although it 
troubles me, I rejoice in feeling. It is to 
you, grandfather, that I owe these happy 
dispositions, and I dare no longer regret 
the accident which has detained me here.” 

After having discoursed some time longer 
in this manner, we embraced one another, 
and remained silent a long time. I had 
never felt before so sweet and lively a sense 
of joy. Thus God changed evil into good; 
we derive happiness from affliction, and the 
afflicted are comforted. 

Lord ! thou hast drawn me to thyself by 
suffering; let me never forget thee, when 
the day of suffering is passed. As thou at 
this moment teachest me resignation, so in 
spire me then with gratitude ! 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


47 


November 27. 

Perpetual snow ! Jt is seldom that so 
large a quantity falls at this season, even 
apon the mountains* Notwithstanding this, 
I did not cease to wonder why my father 
did not come to our aid, and I continued to 
express my surprise. Hitherto my grand- 
father would not allow himself to let me 
perceive his uneasiness ; our conversation 
to-day has informed me that he is not less 
alarmed than myself. 

“ This snow,” said I, “ has not come upon 
us at once ; I should have thought that they 
could have opened a road here, either the 
first, second, or even the third day.” 

“ I am very sure,” said my grandfather, 
“ that Francois has done all he could for us ; 
it may he that he has not been able to im- 
press his fears upon our friends and neigh- 
bors, and he alone could not deliver us.” 

“Do you think then that, having the 
power to take us hence, they would leave us 
here, with the risk of finding us dead in the 
spring? Have our friends and neighbors 
less humanity than those people of whom 
we read sometimes m the newspapers, who 


48 


THREE MONTHS 


expose themselves to the greatest labor, 
and even risk their lives, to rescue unfor- 
tunate beings who are buried in a mine, or 
a well, or under the rubbish fallen in an 
excavation ?” 

“ I agree with you, that we are in a sad 
plight, dear Louis ; but yet they know that 
we have a shelter and some provisions.” 

“ But they know also that these may fail ; 
that you are old and infirm, and that I have 
not yet the strength of a man : they ought 
to have some compassion on us.” 

“ Perhaps they have made some attempts, 
and found it too difficult to proceed.” 

“ However, if they want to open the high- 
road when it is blocked up with snow, and 
form in its whole length a way large enough 
for carriages, they contrive to manage it, 
and that happens almost every winter.” 

“ But this is ordered by the government 
for the public service, and is only done at a 
great expense.” 

“ What then ? Will they not do that to 
save two unhappy beings who are in danger 
of their life, which they can do for the mere 
convenience of travelers? This seems cruel.” 


UNDER THE SNOW. 40 

* The government has doubtless no knowl- 
*lge that we are here.” 

“ My father would not have failed to make 
it known, and to summon everybody to our 
aid.” 

Having said this, and finding that my 
grandfather remained silent, I added, taking 
both his hands, “ Hide nothing from me, I 
beg of you. Is it not true that you enter- 
tain the same apprehensions as myself? 
Speak freely to me. Since I now know 
how to resign myself to the will of God, I 
am not unworthy of your confidence ; tell 
me your fears, and do not let me remain 
longer a prey to my own ; I had rather see 
my misfortune clearly, and know what you 
really think upon the subject.” 

“ Well, dear Louis, I must own to you 
that I fear some accident has happened to 
your father. I must tell it you ; besides, 
you have divined my thoughts. I am still 
much embarrassed about it; for besides 
your father, there are others who ought to 
havs thought of us.” 

At this I began to weep and sob. My 
grandfather left me some time to indulge 
4 


50 


THREE MONTHS 


my grief. We sat before the fire, which 
went out. We remained thus in darkness 
till it grew late ; my grandfather held one 
of my hands in his, and pressed it from time 
to time. 

“ I have told you my fears,” he said at 
length ; “ will you not let me tell you my 
hopes ? We cannot foresee everything. 
God’s power surpasses all understanding. 
Be not cast down, hut preserve yourself for 
the sake of your father and grandfather.” 

November 28. 

We have made as exact a calculation as 
we could of how much oil or grease our 
lamp burns in a day ; and we have found 
that if it remains burning for twelve hours 
a day our provision will be exhausted in a 
month. We have resolved, therefore, to 
limit ourselves to three hours of lamp light. 
The fire light w r ill supply its place some- 
times ; but we can only allow ourselves this 
indulgence with economy ; and yet it is a 
pity, for the fir-wood produces a brilliant 
light, the blaze and sparkling of which 
please me much. While the lamp is not 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


51 


burning we converse. My grandfather has 
always something interesting to say to me, 
and I shall leave this place, that is, if our 
captivity lasts much longer, much more 
learned than I was. He has been for sev- 
eral years unable to work, and has passed 
all that time in reading good books, which 
a rich neighbor has lent him ; I am now 
profiting by what he has read. He also 
gives me some lessons. One of these, which 
shortens the time most, is working arith- 
metic by the head. He proposes little ques- 
tions, and we try who can answer them the 
soonest. When either of us is ready to give 
the solution, he tells the other, and we make 
use of this as a check. In this way an hou.» 
or two passes quickly. There is also emu- 
lation mixed with it. At first my grand 
father had the advantage of me ; so much 
so that in order not to discourage me he let 
me believe that he was puzzding at the solu 
tion, when he had already managed it 
After a few experiments my attention im- 
proved ; but he assures me that this is 
nothing to what T may yet acquire. 


THREE MONTHS 


VI 


CHAPTER III. 

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS — PLAITING STRAW -HOPELESS CON- 
DITION — CHANGE OF “ BLANCHETTE ” PLAN OF ESCAP8 

EXERTIONS IN THE SNOW ACCIDENT TERRTBLK 

HURRICANE — INSTRUCTIVE REMARKS — DANGER OF SUF- 
FOCATION — SEVERE COLD. 

November 29. 

My journal is dated on a day which I must 
ever remember ; for on the 29th of Novem- 
ber I lost my dear mother ; this is now four 
years ago. Last year the day fell on a 
Sunday. As we came out of church, I went 
with my father to the cemetery, and we 
stopped some time before the spot where the 
remains of our best friend are deposited. 
The grass was not yet withered by the cold ; 
a few daisies were even in bloom, as it hap- 
pens sometimes. I think I see them now 
viaving in the wind, as if they meant to 
salute and thank us for our visit. We re- 
mained some time without speaking, at least 
with our lips ; hut our hands which were 
joined pressed each other, and spoke more 
than words could have done. 

I did not live long enough with my 


UNDER THE 6N0W. 


53 


mother to bo acquainted with all her vir- 
tues ; but the remembrance of her is fixed 
in our family, and constantly teaches us the 
greatness of our loss. Since her death I 
do not think that my father has ever passui 
.1 day without speaking to me of her. Some- 
times he looks at me and discovers her like- 
ness in my features ; or, if I speak to him, 
instead of answering me, he says, “ It seems 
to me as if I heard her speaking again.” 

My grandfather, now that he beholds me 
separated from both of them, is kind enough 
to be constantly reminding me of them in 
our conversations. He relates to me all 
that occurred at home before I was born ; 
and even since, before I was able to know 
either myself or my parents. Ah ! when 
he is upon this subject I want no other 
amusement ; we can then put out the lamp, 
and wait patiently for the time of going to 
bed. Everything which he tells me, and 
of which, perhaps, he would never have 
thought but for our misfortune, is engraved 
forever in my mind. 

Thus, then, I was for a long time the joy 
of my parents, without knowing or think- 


34 


THREE MONTHS 


ing of it ! I gave them caresses whic h I no 
longer remember ; I spoke to them in child 
; sh words which caused them the liveliest 
pleasure, hut of which I can recall neither 
the time nor the occasion. These were the 
reward of all their cares and watchings. 
Upon this subject, my grandfather said to 
me, “ How wonderful are the wisdom and 
goodness of Providence ! It renders a child 
engaging before he knows how to love him- 
self : so that others are constantly guarding 
against the dangers that may happen to a 
being that has no fear for itself, and inter- 
est themselves the more about it because it 
is unable either to think or provide for it- 
self.” 

When I endeavor to recall my earliest 
recollections, I see my grandfather at the 
corner of the fire, my mother in the garden, 
and my father coming in at the door with 
a faggot on his shoulders. These images 
become gradually more numerous and d is- 
tinet, and I cannot help comparing these 
early days of my life with the early dawn 
of day. At first, the larger objects are only 
distinguished; gradually everything be- 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


55 


comes visible, everything becomes distinct, 
and our sight takes in the smallest objects. 

November 30 . 

We have found out a way of making use 
of our hands during part of the day, with- 
out burning more oil than prudence allows. 
As we have abundance of straws we plait 
them, or, rather, I plait them into long 
bands, which may serve numbe/less pur- 
poses. I have seen my father surround our 
beds of peas with similar bands to support 
them ; they might, perhaps, be put to the 
same use for the corn, more especially the 
rye, which is more liable to be blown down ; 
at least, when we can get the wood to make 
some chairs, we can make the seats of plait- 
ed straw. 

I sit near the fire, and place myself so as 
to be able to work by its light ; my grand- 
father watches my operations, and hands 
me the straws as I want them. He takes 
particular care that it shall not cause us 
any further alarm, and keeps it at a proper 
distance from the fire. 

This occupation amuses us; it seems as 


THREE MONTHS 


56 

if, while working for the fine season, wo were 
bringing it nearer to us. Besides, it does 
not interrupt our conversation ; my grand- 
father makes me relate what happened while 
I was at school, where I unfortunately some- 
times found the time rather long. I like 
particularly to recall the visits of that good 
and rich neighbor, who used to come from 
time to time to distribute hooks as prizes to 
us. He used also to give us verses to learn 
by heart; this made the time pass more 
rapidly, especially when he recited these 
little poems, and explained their meaning. 

December 1. 

I shudder in writing this day. If only a 
part of November has seemed so long, what 
will be the whole of the month we have 
now begun ? But still more, will it be tne 
last of our captivity ? I dare not any 
longer look forward to its termination. The 
snow has accumulated to such a degree that 
it seems as if a whole summer would scarce- 
ly be enough to melt it. It now rises to 
the roof, and if I did not go up every day 
to clear the chimney we should soon be 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 57 

unable to open the trap and to light the 
fire. 

It is melancholy to think that my grand- 
father cannot, even occasionally, get out of 
this tomb. I asked him this morning what 
thing he desired most, and he answered, “ A 
ray of sunshine.” “ However,” he added, 
“ our lot is much less unfortunate than that 
of many prisoners of whom several have not 
deserved their confinement more than we 
have. We have fire, we have often light, 
we enjoy a degree of liberty in our prison, 
and we find in it some means of amusement, 
which the four walls of a dungeon never 
present ; we are not troubled every day 
with the visit of a suspicious jailer, who is 
either absolutely cruel, or at least indiffer- 
ent to our sufferings. The evils we experi- 
ence by the will of God are never so bitter 
as those which we conceive that we may atr 
tribute to the injustice of men ; in short, we 
are not alone, my boy ; and if I am grieved 
that you should be shut up in this chalet, 1 
will not conceal from you that your presence 
here supports me and is necessary for mo. 
It seems too that you are not displeased 


(58 


THREE MONTIIS 


with your companion ; even poor Blancliette 
Beems to soothe us in our imprisonment, and 
I assure you that it is not only for her milk 
that I am attached to her.” 

These last words set me thinking, and I 
proposed to associate this poor beast more 
nearly with us. “ She is very lonely,” I said, 
“ she is always bleating ; this might injure 
her, and consequently ourselves. Why 
should we not give her a corner here? 
The place is large enough for us all ; she 
will thank us for doing her so much honor, 
and perhaps she will be a better nurse.” 

This proposal was well received, and [ 
immediately set to work. I arranged, in 
an angle of the kitchen, where it appeared 
the least likely to incommode us, a little 
manger, which I fixed to the wall with some 
large nails; I strengthened it with two 
posts, and without waiting any longer I 
brought Blanchette in to us. 

How grateful she seemed for this change ! 
She is as happy as can be, and constantly 
thanking us. If that were to last, it would 
be rather annoying. But when she gets 
accustomed to her new situation she will be 



























































* 





















* 













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' Ns \*#*! 




^' w WJ'f\N|f''""' 


Ijr --vW^uhv^' ^X\W' ^ 

--Jm,.- - ^ XX AV, X\\\x^v‘ x^^AV 

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♦ 


LOUIS ON THE TOP OF TIIE CHALET, 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


61 


more quiet than before. She is even now, 
while I am committing these details to paper, 
1) ing on her fresh straw ; she is chewing the 
cud tranquilly, and looks at me with sucli a 
contented air, that she seems to guess that 
lam writing her history. She wants noth- 
ing now, and there is at least one happy 
being in the chalet. 


December 2. 

We forgot everything after supper hut 
laying plans for our escape ; and it is now 
so late that 1 have no time to write my 
journal. It would be always well filled and 
interesting, if I could repeat all the things 
that my grandfather says to me ; hut he 
prefers that I should rather write the his- 
tory of our proceedings, than give a partic- 
ular account of our conversations. 

December 3. 

To-day I was drawn out upon the roof by 
the bright sunshine. Dry cold weather ha* 
succeeded to the long fall of snow. How 
this white carpet dazzled me, and how beau- 
tiful the forest appeared ! I hardly dared 
to tell grandpapa all the pleasure 1 felt 


62 


THREE MONTHS 


By thinking a great deal, I have nit upon 
a scheme which, at first, appeared to me the 
most simple in the world, and I reproach 
myself for not having thought of it sooner, 
It is only to shovel away the snow from be- 
fore the door, and to make a path with a 
gentle ascent, by throwing it up on each 
side. I have already set my hand to this 
work; my grandfather will soon see what 
he wishes for most — a ray of sunshine 1 I 
have worked all day ; there is more work to 
do than I expected ; (but I should have done 
more if I had been permitted.) My clothes 
are drying before the fire, and I have wrap- 
ped myself up in the blanket, while I noto 
down in my journal the fortunate under 
taking of to-day. 


December 4. 

The work goes on ; I have continued at it 
as long as my grandfather would let me* 
He had conceived the idea of this job before 
I had, but he was afraid that I should suffer 
from the cold and damp, and was unwilling 
to tax the strength of his grandson for his 
own benefit. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


63 


December 5. 

We are now able to go out of doors. The 
path is made, and well trodden down ; I 
have had the pleasure to see my grandfather 
walk over it, supporting him myself on one 
side while he leaned on the other on a rail, 
which I had fixed at one end to the house, 
and at the other to a post sunk in the snow. 

We remained some moments at the top 
of our avenue, which is not very long ; but 
the day was gloomy, and we felt ourselves 
very sad at seeing that black forest, that 
cloudy sky, and that snow which environs 
us with the silence of death. One single 
living creature appeared in sight, it was a 
bird of prey, which passed by us, uttering a 
hoarse cry. He reached the valley, and 
flew in the direction of our village. 

“ Among the heathens,” said my grand- 
father with a sorrowful smile, “ they would 
have given a meaning to this bird, his flight, 
and his cry; superstitious men would have 
found a subject for fear or for hope in his 
appearance. Shall we soon follow the direc- 
tion in which this bird has flown ? God only 
knows ; he is too good and too wise to make 


(54 


THREE MONTHS 


our fate known to us ; or if it were his will 
to do so, lie would not make use of a brute 
as his prophet. Come, dear Louis, let ua 
await his pleasure. I thank you fcr the 
trouble you have taken for me ; I will take 
more advantage of it another day.” 

We went in ; and, contrary to my expec- 
tations, we were more serious than usual, in 
spite of all our efforts. Thus, the result 
does not always respond to our hopes. The 
gloomy weather is not sufficient to explain 
our sadness ; I think it is caused by the 
very fact of having been able to go out, of 
having imagined ourselves at liberty, and 
yet feeling that we are as much prisoners 
as we were before. 


December 0. 

One idea gives birth to another. Tim 
time it was my grandfather who spoke first ; 
he knew that I should benefit as much as 
himself by the proposal. He has employed 
me to clear away the snow from before the 
window. It will require time, because there 
is a much greater quantity in this part ; 
besides, to gain our end in obtaining light 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


65 


there must be a much greater slope on both 
sides. I have commenced operations with- 
out suffering my grandfather to have any- 
thing to do with them. He has not insist* 
ed upon it, knowing of how much value hia 
health is to me. “ I will not,” said De, 
“ expose you in the least, to give myself a 
little amusement.” 


December 7. 

We are less forward than yesterday ; the 
snow has begun again, and the wind is so 
cold that I have not been allowed to work 
out of doors. I have to-day only cleared 
away the snow that had recently fallen be- 
fore the door. I must retain what I have 
done ; everything requires to be kept up, 
and I will not fail for want of perseverance. 

December 8. 

The weather was milder to-day, and I 
resumed our work ; but an accident has 
happened to me, at which I only laughed at 
first, though the consequences might have 
been very serious. I had already cleared 
away a great deal of snow, and thought I 
5 


THREE MONTHS 


06 

was drawing near the end of mj task, when 
a heap of snow which I had thrown up over 
my head rolled down upon me and com- 
pletely buried me. My grandfather, who 
had just returned into the chalet, had no 
fears, because he had given me proper di- 
rections to guard me against this accident ; 
I had neglected them, and did not call to 
him at first for fear of alarming him ; I 
hoped to be able to extricate myself. I suc- 
ceeded, in fact, in getting my head out, hut 
it was all I could do without assistance. 
After having struggled a long time in vain, 
because the snow afforded me no safe and 
solid footing, 1 was forced to call to my 
grandfather to help me. 

He came in the greatest alarm, and drag- 
ged himself with much difficulty to the 
place where I was almost buried alive. 
When by his aid one of my arms was free, 
L was soon set at liberty ; but I shall hardly 
be allowed to continue this work, of which 
my own carelessness alone has prevented 
the complete success. 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


67 


December 9. 

May the Lord have mercy upon us ! Wo 
have just passed the most dreadful day of 
our captivity. I never knew before what a 
hurricane was upon the mountains. Even 
now I cannot tell what has happened out of 
doors. We first heard the most frightful 
rumblings ; when we attempted to open the 
door, we beheld clouds of snow flying with 
such rapidity, and the wind rushed with, 
such violence into the chalet, that we had 
the greatest difficulty to close it again so 
as to fasten the latch. We were obliged 
also to let down the trap ; and then we 
could have no fire, because the smoke en- 
tirely filled the room. 

We remained a long time in the dark 
after having milked Blanchette, and break- 
fasted on her milk without boiling it; only 
before putting out the lamp we read a few 
pages of The Imitation. Then my grand- 
father supported my courage by his serenity ; 
bis grave * and pious words mingled in 
the darkness with the howlings of the 
storm. At the very moment when one 
might have thought that the curse of God 


G8 


THREE MONTHS 


was upon us, he spoke to me only of his 
mercy. 

“ That same power,” said he, “ which 
«eems to us so terrible to-day, will soon ap- 
pear to us full of gentleness and love ; it 
seems now to threaten all nature with total 
destruction, and we might suppose that we 
were again to he involved in that chaos in 
which all matter existed before the Lord 
said, ‘ Let there he light/ How blind we 
are ! These tempests only prepare the way 
for a new creation. You will again see the 
plains, my hoy, in all their verdure, the 
harvest lands covered with gold ; your eyes 
will wander again over flowering orchards, 
and look up to the expanse of heaven, all 
brilliant with light. Will this wonderful 
change cause you to acknowledge the om- 
nipotence of God ? Shall you learn to love 
him then even as you fear him now ? After 
having seen with what terrible effects na- 
ture raises upon the mountains these heaps 
of fertilizing waters, which she sends after- 
ward in copious streams into the valleys ; 
after having learned to understand the 
views of Providence in this respect, will you 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


69 


iearn also to "bring your weak intelligence 
into subjection to his infinite wisdom ? Will 
you then understand that prudence as well 
as respect and meekness bid us rely upon 
that wisdom ? If such should be the effect 
of our sufferings, the dreadful day we are 
now passing ought to be considered as the 
happiest of your life.” 

With such exhortations as these my 
grandfather engaged my attention and 
supported my courage. We were seated on 
our bed, and had spread over us a truss of 
straw. .My grandfather, perceiving that I 
was drowned in tears, passed one of his 
arms round my neck, and, joining his hands 
upon my breast, held me for some time in 
his embrace without speaking. At length, 
when he perceived, that I had become calmer, 
and that I had not waited for the abate- 
ment of the storm to recover myself, he 
said : — 

“Well, do you mean to let me have all 
the conversation to myself? Have you no 
answer to make ? or have you not presence 
of mind enough to express your thoughts ?” 

“ Do not think me so unreasonable,” I 


70 


THREE MONTHS 


replied. “ My feelings and my tears do not 
come from a weak and cowardly heart, so 
unworthy of you^s.” 

I had hardly uttered these words when 
there came a gust of wind more violent than 
any which had preceded it, and we heard 
the door crack with such force as to make 
us both start. My grandfather, after having 
said a few words to encourage me, remained 
silent for a moment, and then said : — 

“ As we have no fire to-day, we may re- 
compense ourselves hy having the light 
burning a little longer than usual ; beside, 
it might he as well to see what can have 
shaken the door, and, if any accident has 
happened, to repair it immediately.” 

We were up directly, and, after having 
lighted the lamp, we discovered, on half 
opening the door, that an immense mass of 
snow had fallen against it, so that we are 
now shut up as completely as before. This 
was a subject of great regret to me, but I 
had now learned to submit without mur- 
muring to this new disappointment. 

“ Consider,” said my grandfather, “ that 
if the storm nad surprised us before the 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


71 


chalet was buried in the snow, it would not 
perhaps have been able to stand against it. 
Let us receive with submissive resignation 
this order of things, to which we owe our 
escape to-day from very great danger.” 

The tempest continues while I am writing. 
We have contrived to boil our milk with 
some fir-cones. This sort of fire produces 
very little smoke, and fills the chalet with 
an agreeable resinous odor. We have been 
able to warm ourselves a little ; and having 
j ust read a few pages of our excellent coun- 
selor, we hope, by God’s blessing, to obtain 
a little sleep upon our straw. 


December 10. 

We have heard less wind to-day, but we 
know not the state of the weather ; we 
think, however, that the snow still falls in 
great abundance ; at least the trap is so 
loaded with it that with all my efforts I 
cannot open it. We are reduced to the ne- 
cessity of burning nothing but cones, for 
fear of being suffocated with the smoke. 1 
have contrived, however, in order to give us 
a little iijore light, to split some logs of fir 


n 


THREE MONTHS 


into slight laths, which I light at one end 
these burn of themselves for some moments > 
but how 1 regret my window! Tt is now 
hidden as completely as before. I must, 
decidedly, when the weather will allow, 
make another attempt to secure a little 
light, and a little liberty. 


December 11 . 

The cold is much more severe. Although 
we are buried in the snow, which, perhaps, 
prevents our hearing the storm, we feel 
frozen to the very bones ; so that, in order 
to avoid suffering in one way, we are obliged 
to submit to it in another by involving our- 
selves in a cloud of smoke. Unfortunately 
Blanchette seems to hear this with less pa- 
tience than ourselves; and yet we cannot 
think of removing her to the cow-house, 
where she would he cold and solitary. 

My grandfather assures me that the cold 
must he very intense, in order to make itself 
felt to such a degree in a house so shut in 
as this is on all sides. He supposes that 
the wind has changed to the north. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


73 


CHAPTER IV. 

BLANCHETTE — WOLVES — DEPRESSION OF SPIRITS — BUN' 
DAY IN THE CHALET — DIET — EXHORTATION — HIS 

GRANDFATHER’S ILLNESS TUBE — ITS USEFULNESS — 

WRITES FOR HIS GRANDFATHER — PRECAUTIONS — - 
NEW DISCOVERY. 

December 13. 

VV r E had a dreadful alarm yesterday ; to-day 
even I can scarcely collect my thoughts 
enough to write down what has passed. 
Alas ! we are not yet sure that we have 
escaped all danger. 

I was busy milking the goat while my 
grandfather was lighting the fire ; sud- 
denly she pricked up her ears, as if she 
heard some extraordinary noise, and then 
began to tremble all over. 

I observed this at once, addressing myself 
to her — 

“ What is the matter, poor Blanchette ?” 
I said, caressing her: but immediately we 
neard the most dreadful howlings, as it were 
over our heads. 

“ Wolves !” I exclaimed. 
v Silence, my boy! caress Blanchette/’ 


74 


THREE MONTHS 


said my grandfather ; and he approached 
her himself, and gave her some salt. She 
continued to tremble, and the howlings con* 
tinued also. 

“ Well, Louis,” he said in a low voice, 
“ what would have become of us if you had 
opened a passage to the window? Who 
knows if even the chimney might not have 
afforded a passage to these ravenous beasts?” 

“ And do you think we are safe, even as 
we are ?” 

“ I hope so ; hut speak low, and do not 
cease to caress Blanchette ; her bleating 
might betray us.” 

One would have thought that she had the 
same fears, for she did not make the slightest 
noise. My grandfather came and sat down 
by me ; I held the goat in my arms ; he had 
his hand laid upon my shoulder, and I need 
ed all the encouragement of his calm and 
serene countenance to keep me from shriek- 
ing aloud with fright. 

All that I had previously experienced in 
the chalet could not be compared to the 
agony of yesterday, throughout the whole 
day. We passed it by th? side of Blanchette 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


75 


and at several intervals we heard the bowl- 
ings of the wolves ; at one time it was so 
loud that I thought my last hour was come 

“ They are digging through the snow,” 1 
cried, clasping my grandfather in my arms ; 
“ they will got in and devour us.” 

“ I would not deceive you, my boy ; if our 
situation is painful, I do not think it is by 
any means dangerous. These wolves may 
he running over the mountain, because the 
surface of the snow is frozen hard ; hut they 
will not remain long upon the heights. At 
this season, they resort to the neighborhood 
of the plains and villages. Perhaps they 
have brought the carcass of some animal 
here, and make this outcry that we hear be- 
cause they are quarreling while they de- 
vour it. 

“ Even if they should succeed in discover- 
ing that we are here, they could never pene- 
trate through the roof and the ceiling; they 
would never guess the situation of the win- 
dow, nor could they lift up the trap ; the 
worst they can do is to annoy us with their 
cries. Let us here again, my child, ac- 
knowledge the goodness of God. The storm 


THREE MONTHS 


76 

which he ordained for us yesterday has been 
our preservation : he has repaired, in the 
destruction of your labors, the mischief that 
our imprudence had caused; he has shut out 
from us the light you wished us to enjoy , 
but it will be the saving of our lives. What 
a blessing it was that these wolves did not 
come upon us while you were working out 
of doors ! We must be more on our guard 
in future.” 

“ Thus, then,” I said sorrowfully, “ our 
captivity becomes more painful. The winter 
is only just beginning ; the cold may become 
more severe ; we shall never get out of this 
place.” 

Such was the conversation we held all 
day. Till night we heard these savage 
wolves. At length we went to bed ; but I 
scarcely slept at all, though the bowlings 
had entirely ceased. 

To-day I thought I heard them again; 
my grandfather assured me that I was de- 
ceived. It is certain that Blanchette trem- 
bles no more ; she eats, chews the cud, and 
sleeps as usual, and we think that since she 
is quiet we may be also. 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


77 


December 14 . 

Since this new danger has threatened us, 
of which T never thought before, I feel my- 
self sad and cast down. It is not only + he 
horrible idea of being torn in pieces by 
wolves which haunts me, it is the tliougnt 
that I shall not be able as formerly to quit 
my prison for a few moments, and breathe 
the open air ; and also the necessity of giv- 
ing up all idea of clearing the door and 
window, which would have rendered our 
situation more endurable. 

Before this new accident, I had drawn for 
mysell almost a delightful picture for the 
future. I hoped to restore to my grand- 
father the sight of the sun ; we were enjoy- 
ing from the window a small degree of 
light; we were amused sometimes with ex- 
ternal objects ; it seemed as if I were wait- 
ing, without too much impatience, the thaw- 
ing of the snow and the moment of follow- 
ing the streams into the plain. 

Now what a difference ! We no longer 
know what is passing outside the chalet; 
vt is become uncomfortable by the smoke ; 
and the only way to free ourselves from thi? 


78 


THREE MONTHS 


restraint is to risk our safety. Gocl grant 
that this increasing anxiety and prolonged 
confinement may not make either of us ill ! 

My grandfather sees my depression, and 
blames me for it; he reminds me of the 
sentiments which I expressed some days 
ago ; he finds me so different from what I 
was, that he scarcely recognizes me. I am 
much of his opinion I confess ; and if I go 
to bed afflicted at my lot, I am still more 
dissatisfied with myself. 


December 15 . 

To-day is Sunday. What are our friends 
and neighbors doing this evening which we 
are passing so sadly? Are they thinking 
of us ? Yes. certainly, if my poor father is 
still among them ; but if he has fallen, in 
endeavoring to release us perhaps, the others 
have already forgotten us ; we are dead to 
all the world. They are enjoying in the 
village the repose of winter ; they are con- 
suming, gaily, the autumnal fruits ; they 
are paying visits ; they pass the evening 
round a bright fire or a warm stove. I. have 
never felt till now how much other men *re 


UNDER TIIE SNOW 


71 ) 

necessary to our happiness. They divide 
their labors, and they are less painful ; 
they share their pleasures, and they double 
their value. 

O! if God should he pleased to restore 
me one day to the society of my brothers, 
how I shall enjoy it ! What a pleasure it 
will be to hear the sounds and see the bustle 
of the village ! what happiness to feel that 
we are surrounded by neighbors who love 
and protect us ! what delight in rendering 
to one another mutual offices of kindness ! 
But our friends must know what we are 
suffering here ; can they leave us willingly 
in this dreadful state of abandonment? 

“Do not dwell, this evening at least,” 
said my grandfather, “ upon such a painful 
thought ; it is a bad way of concluding thi> 
day that is consecrated to God. If men for- 
get us, let us forgive them, in order to ob- 
tain pardon of Him whom we are too often 
forgetting. You regret the society of your 
companions ; that of your heavenly Father 
ought to be sufficient to give you both joy 
and peace.” 

“ You must assist me, my revered friend.” 


80 


THREE MONTHS 


T replied, “ to recover those pious sentiments 
which animated me before I found myself 
exposed to so dreadful a death. Grant me, 
0 God, the virtue of thy holy martyrs, who 
were able to bless thee in the face )i the 
most horrible tortures ! If I am to sacrifice 
my life to thee in this place, give me the 
courage to do it with firmness ! Even chil- 
dren have been known to glorify thee in the 
midst of torments.” 


Decembek 16 . 

Our whole diet consists of goat’s milk, 
pieces of dry hard bread, and boiled potatoes, 
which we eat with a little salt. Still we are 
obliged to be very sparing of our potatoes, 
for our stock is small. Sometimes, for a 
change, we roast them in the ashes, and 
thus we like them best. 

Until now my grandfather has never been 
willing to touch our coffee ; he has at length 
resolved to do so, in order to endeavor to 
regain his appetite. Our late alarms have 
affected his health. This little treat, in 
which he consented to indulge at my earnest 
request, has done him good. He wishes me 


UNDER THE SNOW 


81 


to share it ; but I have positively refused. 
If must he reserved for cases of absolute 
necessity, and I do not stand in any need of 
if whatever. 

A milk diet ought certainly to be suffi 
cient for a man’s nourishment. The shep- 
herds of the Alps live entirely upon it for 
a great part of the year ; and people who 
eat bread and meat and drink wine are not 
always so strong and healthy ; but in our 
villages they have a little more variety. 
Besides, it is more difficult for an old man 
to change his manner of living, and I am 
grieved to see my grandfather reduced tc 
live upon Blanchette’s milk. 

For himself, he will not allow me to pity 
him ; and when I was telling him this even- 
ing how much I suffered by his privations, 
which were originally caused by my dis- 
obedience, he interrupted me, and begged 
me never to touch upon that subject 
again. 


December 17. 

“ Time passes, and the winter is approach 
ing,” said my grandfather to-day. 

6 


82 


THREE MONTHS 


“ How ! the winter approaching?” I cried* 
“is it not already come ?” 

“ Not yet by the almanac. Winter only 
begins on the 21st of December ; till then 
we are in the autumn.” 

“ True ; I remember that our school- 
master thus explained the divisions of the 
year. Can it indeed be said that we are 
still in the season of fruit?” 

“ My child, even in the valley the harvest 
has been gathered in a long time, as you 
know ; and on the mountains the winter be- 
gins sooner.” 

“ And ends later,” I said, sadly. 

“ Yes ; but it may become mild enough 
for us to be delivered before the return of 
spring. Only let a warm south wind blow 
for a few days, and all this snow will melt 
faster than it has fallen.” 

“ What a slender thread our life hangs 
upon !” 

“ Does that surprise you ? From the very 
moment of your birth you have been in 
the same dependent position. We live sur- 
rounded by danger, which we very often are 
unaware of ; and that which the circum- 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


83 


stances in which we are placed may add to 
it, is a mere trifle. Accustom yourself, my 
child, to this reflection, that at every mo- 
ment of our lives an unforeseen accident, 
often the most trifling in appearance, may 
put an end to them. Thus you will learn 
to be cautious when you think you are in 
the most perfect safety, and firm when sur- 
rounded by the greatest dangers.” 

To this exhortation of my grandfather 
I answered, as I often did, by opening The 
Imitation of J'sus Christ, in order to read to 
him a passage which bore upon what he had 
been saying to me. 

“ When it is morning,” so the book ex- 
presses itself, “ reflect that you may never 
see the evening; and when it is evening, 
never rely upon the certainty of seeing the 
morning. Always, therefore, be ready, so 
that death may not take you unawares. 
Many people die by a sudden and unforeseen 
death ; for ‘ the Son of man cometh at an 
hour when ye think not.' ” 

“ I am pleased to observe,” said my grand- 
father, “ how this book becomes familiar to 
you. If you continue to study it, it will 


THREE MONTHS 


64 

stand by you as a real friend ; it will often 
respond to your thoughts ; it will be your 
counselor in times of difficulty ; it will con- 
firm your own reflections by its respectable 
authority; and, as you will find it often 
agreeing with you, it will give you such 
confidence in your own strength as you may 
reasonably hope for. 

“ Such, my child, is the use which we 
ought to make of a good book. And I as- 
sure you many people have well-furnished 
libraries, who know not how to derive any 
advantage from them ; because in reading 
they only seek for amusement, instead of 
assistance in the daily conduct of their lives. 
They live to read, instead of reading to live. 
Try to avoid following their example.” 

December 18 . 

My grandfather has eaten almost nothing 
all day ; he has tried again the mixing of a 
little coffee with his milk, of which he swal- 
lowed a small quantity ; he consented also, 
at my^arnest entreaty, to dip a little bread 
in it ; he has made efforts, which he could 
not conceal from me, to appear as calm and 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


85 


serene as usual ; I was much affected by it, 
and it did not lessen my anxiety. If ho 
sho ild fall ill, now that our situation be* 
comes daily more difficult and distressing, 
O God, in what need shall we stand of thy 
Help ! I implore it with all my heart, but 
resign myself entirely to thy will. 

December 19. 

Why should I complain of the difficulties 
which surround me, when each one serves 
as a spur to my mind, and stimulates my 
courage ? The smoke has caused us so 
much suffering, that we long to open the 
trap, were it possible, hy clearing away the 
snow which covers it; on the other hand, 
the fear of the wolves restrains us from it. 
Well ! I have to-day thought of a plan to 
effect what we want ; we can now make a 
fire, and have even done so, without being 
annoyed by the smoke, and without ex* 
posing ourselves to the attacks of our fear* 
lul enemies. 

My grandfather complained of numbness, 
which I attributed to the want of a fire; 
for we couM not rely upon what we obtained 


THREE MONTHS 


6G 

from the cones, when we were obliged tc 
limit ourselves to the feeble supply of 
warmth we received from them. I had ol> 
served in a corner of the cow-house, where wo 
keep our little stock of potatoes, a rusty 
tube of iron ; I knew that it had belonged 
to a small stove with which the chalet had 
been warmed last year, hut which has now 
been removed. 

“ Could we not,” said I, “ fix this tube 
in the trap, by making a sufficient opening 
in it ?” 

“ It is a good thought,” replied my grand- 
father; “but there are many difficulties in 
the way of executing your plan. How are 
we to make the opening? How can you 
fix yourself up there to work at it ? It 
cannot be done without danger, and I will 
not allow you to expose yourself to the risk 
of a serious accident, only to save me from 
& slight inconvenience.” 

I remained silent, but began to think. 
1 knew that it would be useless for me to 
urge the matter, until I had hit upon some 
plan to assure my grandfather of my 
safety. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


87 


I saw at once that the hole might he 
made in the trap without difficulty. The 
plank is not very thick, and one of our 
knives has a very good small saw attached 
to it. Some days ago, I found a gimlet in 
the drawer of the table ; very blunt indeed, 
but not so much so as to prevent its boring 
a hole in a deal plank. A hole once made 
with this, I could introduce and work the 
saw, and then remove a round piece of wood, 
of the size of the tube. 

But how could I secure a firm footing 
while doing the work ? I happened to have 
a strong new cord ; this I tied firmly to 
the upper part of the pole, leaving, lower 
down, two looped ends, like stirrups, for 
my feet to rest in when I had climbed up. 
As a further assistance, I took another end 
of the rope to fix it to the ring of the trap 
and fasten it round my waist. 

After having explained to my grand* 
father how I meant to set to work, I ob- 
tained his leave to begin ; and I had laid 
my plans so well, that, at the first trial, 
the tube passed through the opening, when 
[ fixed it with some nails driven through 


88 


TIIREE MONTHS 


the edge, which I had previously pierced 
with holes at equal distances. 

I came down quite happy. I removed 
from the fire-place the snow which the tube 
had cut through in its ascent, and I had 
the satisfaction of seeing the smoke of a 
sparkling fire, which I lighted, ascend with- 
out difficulty. 

This was a whole day’s work ; hut allow 
ance must he made for the indifference of 
the tools, the awkwardness of the situation, 
and, above all, the inexperience of the work • 
man. I do not, however, deserve all that 
my grandfather would say to reward my 
labor. I am more than repaid by the 
pleasure of seeing him with his feet on the 
dogs, enjoying the brightness of the fire, 
and warming himself before he goes to 
bed. 

After reading the foregoing details, my 
grandfather insists upon my writing down 
^hat he is going to dictate. The follow- 
ing are, therefore, his words : — 

“ I do not know what the future has in 
store for me; but I wish, if possible, to 
make known every one of the mot^'ea 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


89 


which I have to bless God for having placed 
me in this apparently so dismal prison. 
My grandson always speaks with becoming 
modesty of what he has done, and I shall 
he careful n)t to wound his humility by 
saying too much in his praise. ‘ The praise 
of men/ says the wise author whose lessons 
we study every day with increasing pleasure, 
‘ does not serve to make us more holy ; we 
are but what we are ; and all that men can 
say of us can never make us greater in the 
sight of God/ But if the conduct of m) 
grandson has filled my heart with joy, 1 
may at least allow myself to testify it to 
him, especially if I refer to God the glory 
of all that I behold this child doing for the 
sake of his grandfather. 

“ Yes, my son ; to God alone be the glory ! 
You looked up to him, from the first, in 
the performance of your duties. To-day, 
for example, all the time that you devoted 
yourself to this difficult task, which has 
been of such benefit to me, has, doubtless, 
been with you a time of prayer. While 
your hands were working with all their 
strength, your young heart was lifted up tc 


THREE MONTHS 


t)0 

God with all the ardor of your age ; you 
prayed to him that success might crown 
your endeavors. Happy employment of 
life ! Thus ought we always to work. Let 
us again quote the words of our wise 
fi iend. 

“ ‘ Bodily occupations often draw the soul 
along with them, and prevent it from re- 
tiring within itself, and thinking enough 
upon God ; but when we apply ourselves to 
bodily labor with the sole view, in perform- 
ing them, of fulfilling the will of God, then 
the mind is not distracted by them ; and 
by all our different employments one single 
object is attained, which is to seek to please 
God.’ 

“Grant, 0 Lord, to the old man that 
wisdom which he is seeking to instill into 
this child ! If thou art making use of me 
as an instrument to draw my grandson to 
thyself, continue, I beseech thee, to make 
him an instrument of salvation to me ! 
Thus blessed be my trial, and blessed be 
the captivity to which thou hast condemned 
me together with him ! I refuse nothing, 
0 Lord, which thou seest good for me. I 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


91 


accept all these sufferings, if they can serve 
to bring us nearer to thee.” 


December 20 

“ I do not wish,” said my grandfather, 
u to alarm you unnecessarily ; but I think 
we should do right to take some precau- 
tions against the wolves, in case, which is 
not very likely, they should return and 
find out our only window. This opening is 
not very securely closed ; the frame-work is 
old and weak, it would not resist the at- 
tacks of the enemy, therefore let us try to 
fortify our citadel in this point.” 

The freestone in which the frame is set 
is sufficiently soft; we have wrought two 
holes above and two below, with the aid of 
a pointed iron which we use instead of a 
chisel ; we have fixed in these holes two 
bars of oak, taken from the mangers, where 
they were useless. For greater security 
we have placed outside against these bars 
some planks, fitted, as well as we could do 
them, into two grooves, open on each side. 
Now we have no more fear of an invasion 
by the window than by the door. 


92 


THREE MONTHS 


For the latter we keep it constantly latch 
ed and bolted. We only open it with great 
precaution, when we want to lay in a stock 
of snow ; for we only use thawed snow foi 
all our household purposes, and we have not 
yet observed that it is less wholesome than 
common water. 


December 21. 

We are careful of our oil, and our econo- 
my in this respect has nearly occasioned the 
loss of a large jar in which we keep our 
water for drinking. But here again good 
has come out of evil, as will be seen. The 
jar was placed in a corner ; in searching 
for something in the dark, I knocked it 
over. Happily the floor of the chalet is 
nothing but beaten earth, so that the jar 
was not broken. 

“ We will prevent any future accident ot 
the same kind,” said my grandfather. “ Dig 
a small hole in this corner, where the jar, 
whose base is too small in proportion 'o 
its height, can bo set and be more in 
safety.” 

T had lighted the lamp to do this work, 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


93 


and had taken a pickax for the purpose ; 
just as I was about to strike the first blow, 
“ Stop !” said my grandfather eagerly, as 
if a sudden thought had come across him. 
Then he drew near and took the tool out of 
my hands, with which he began to pick the 
ground, hut very lightly and carefully. I 
asked him what he was looking for ; for I 
clearly perceived by his manner of working 
that he was more afraid of breaking some- 
thing that was hidden in the ground than 
desirous of hurrying on the work in which 
he had at first employed me. 

“ I did not deceive myself, my dear boy,” 
said he shortly, showing me a bottle. “ At 
the very moment when I saw you lift your 
arm I suddenly recollected that, some years 
ago, I had deposited in this very spot four 
or five bottles of wine which remained out 
of our summer’s provision. Since that I 
had quite forgotten them. Place this upon 
the table ; we have only now to look for the 
others. There are not many, I am certain ; 
however, my dear Louis, I look upon this as 
a most fortunate discovery. Hold, here are 
the second and the third.” 


94 


THREE MONTHS 


In short we found five, and I pressed 
grandpapa to taste it immediately. What 
a pleasure it was to me to pour out for him 
a glass of this old wine ! The meager diet 
to which he has been reduced for the last 
month renders this cordial absolutely neces- 
sary to him ; but he would not take more, 
considering this beverage as a remedy that 
ought to be taken in moderation. I was 
obstinate in refusing to take any of it, hav- 
ing no occasion for it on account of any 
malady whatever. 

“ At least moisten your lips in honor of 
the day,” said my grandfather ; “ it is the 
last day of the vintage season, or, if you pre- 
fer it, the first of winter. The sun is about 
to return in its course and come nearer to 
us ; the days will now grow longer ; at first 
scarcely perceptibly, it is true ; but it is like 
the return of hope, we should welcome it 
with joy.” 

I did as he desired me, and then put 
aside with great care this unexpected provi- 
sion, which I hope will have a good effect 
upon the health of my aged parent. 

This little incident restored our courage. 

O » 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


05 


and. we chatted together a long time. My 
grandfather gave me a lesson in astronomy ; 
and I think I now understand well how the 
earth moves round the sun, how the night 
and day are caused, the winter and summer, 
the spring and autumn. 


THREE MONTHS 


m 


CHAPTER V. 

cheerful conversation — longs for employment— 

PLAITING STRAW — RELIGIOUS MEDITATIONS — HIS GRAND* 
FATHER’S CONTINUED ILLNESS — HIS REMARKS CON- 
CERNING DEATH — ATTEMPTS MAKING CHEESE. 

December 22 . 

I have learned from geography that the 
inhabitants of the mountains have distinct 
manners and customs. “ And we ought not 
to be surprised at it,” said my grandfather, 
“ when we observe how different their way 
of living is from that of other people. The 
mountaineers are confined for a great part 
of the year to their solitary huts ; and when 
they leave them with their flocks, it is again 
for solitude. A shepherd of the Alps enjoys 
less of the society of men in a year, than the 
inhabitants of our villages do in a month. 

“ This solitary life must necessarily pro- 
duce a marked effect upon the character- 
A man is thrown more upon himself; h« 
lives, as it were, upon his own reflections ; 
he is accustomed to depend upon his own 
strength to contend with difficulties which 


UNDER TI1E SNOW. 


9? 


present themselves in a state of uncultivated 
nature. This life of hardship tends to the 
formation of patience and religious feeling. 
It is almost the life of those hermits who 
are represented to us as passing their days 
in continued austerities and in silent con- 
temptation.” 

These were my grandfather’s words, which, 
as lie spoke by the light of our fire, made 
him appear to me like one of those holy 
men who were the objects of public venera- 
tion in ages past. His beard began to cover 
the lower part of his face ; he wears a cap 
trimmed with gray fur; his brown coat is 
made of the coarsest cloth ; his costume 
forms a singular contrast to Ins mild look 
and gentle smile. Sometimes I remain a 
long time looking at him ; and when I think 
of all that he must suffer, whether on my 
account, or by the infirmity of age, my eyes 
are filled with tears. 

But we are careful to divert each other 
from our sorrowful reflections. My grand- 
father is always anxious to converse, and I 
endeavoi to make it agreeable to him by 
mv docile attention, being unable to repay 


98 


THREE MONTHS 


in kind the instructions of my venerable 
parent. To-day he entertained me with an 
account of the works to which the moun- 
taineers of the Alps and the Jura devote 
themselves during the winter. 

O, how I envy those who are able to 
abridge this season by regular occupations ! 
If I had, like many of them, the materials, 
the tools, and the skill required to fabricate 
those pretty toys in wood which are manu- 
factured principally in the Bernese Ober- 
land, and which are sold even at Paris ; oi 
if I were but seated before a workman’s 
bench, like the watch-makers of the Chaux. 
de-Fonds, and the valley of the Lac-de-Joux, 
who make watches so renowned for their 
regularity ! If I had only the wood to 
make vine props, coarse pails, and barrels, 
like other inhabitants of the mountains, I 
think I should not complain of my lot. 
There is scarcely any situation in life that 
an assiduous application to labor cannot 
render pleasant, or at least endurable. 

When we have the light, either of the 
lamp or the fire, I try to make bee-hives of 
straw ; but although my work is very coarse, 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


90 


I cannot do without light; I am obliged, 
therefore, to discontinue it during a great 
part of the day, and I am then glad to find 
a means of amusement, always varying, 
in my grandfather’s conversation. If si- 
lence and solitude were added to dark- 
ness, our situation would be indeed dread- 
ful 


December 23. 

Grandpapa complains of pain and numb- 
ness in all his limbs. We are compelled 
to walk, for some time every day, up and 
down our prison as far as our limited space 
will allow. This exercise is necessary to 
us ; my grandfather takes it by leaning on 
my arm. To-day he has held his bare feet 
to the fire, and I remarked with grief that 
there was an appearance of swelling. He 
assures me that it is nothing new, and 
ought not to alarm me. 

I persuade him every night to take a 
small quantity of wine to support his 
strength ; and he is desirous of taking care 
of his health, much more to save me from 
anxiety than from any attachment tr 


i 00 THREE M0NTn« 

life. 0 God, preserve to me the only 
friend that perhaps I have remaining upon 
earth ! 

December 24, 

We invent every day some new method 
of filling up our time to drive away ennui , 
and certainly we have gained something to- 
day, thanks to our perseverance. 

“We are blind during part of the day,” 
eaid my grandfather ; “ but the blind often 
know how to employ their hands and exe- 
cute works whose perfection surprises us. 
Let us try to imitate them. Can we, not 
plait straw in the dark? We might suc- 
ceed by paying attention to it, and practice 
will make it easy.” 

We, therefore, made a first attempt; and 
when we had examined the result by the 
light of the lamp, we were not much dis- 
satisfied with it. I think that in a few days 
we might arrive at the art of plaiting witl 
some neatness. 

I am going to try and make a straw hat, 
such as I have seen made by some young 
shepherds. If I succeed, I shall be the 
more surprised, as this work is not so sim 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


101 


pie. It requires that the strips of straw 
should be nicely interwoven, fastened to- 
gethei with numberless threads which re- 
quire frequent knots, and the whole set up 
on a mold like that which is used bj/ the 
manufacturers of felt-hats. My first at- 
tempt, I dare say, will be a \ery queer sort 
of affair. 

December 25 , Christmas-day. 

We have consecrated this day to prayer 
and meditation. To feel the full value of 
all that the Redeemer has done for men, a 
man ought to suffer misfortune. Before 
his time, how bitterly affliction must have 
been felt ! How easily it must have led to 
discontent, and even to despair ! He came 
upon earth, and consolation came with him. 
He has given us not only the wisest lessons, 
but also the most salutary example. Here 
we are, exiles in a desert ; but was not our 
Saviour conveyed to a mountain to be tempt- 
ed by the devil ? We have a shelter and 
a bed, but he had not where to lay his head. 
We may perhaps be forgotten of men : Jesua 
was cursed and persecuted by them. 

These are not my own reflections, they 


102 


THREE MONTHS 


nre my grandfather’s. He has given me 
many others which I wish that I could 
never forget. 1 was much affected by the 
way in which he recalled to my recollection, 
out of the Gospels, the birth, life, and death, 
of Jesus. He has related to me a great 
number of his parables, and many of his 
discourses, all full of divine love. Our 
chalet seems to me like a place of worship 
during these recitals, with which he inter- 
mingles useful comments, applicable to our 
present circumstances. 

Yet, though the bells have been ringing 
in all the valleys, the country people have 
been thronging the churches, and sacred 
hymns have sent their holy melody from 
village to village, none of their joyous 
sounds have ascended to us. 

My dear neighbors, you know not all the 
happiness of thus assembling for the bless- 
ing of prayer, after having been separated 
and dispersed about in the labors of your 
worldly calling. Formerly custom, as well 
as the thoughtlessness of childhood, made 
me insensible to these blessings ; now the 
thought of them affects me so much as to 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


103 


draw from me tears of impatience and re- 
gret. “ A s the hart panteth after the water- 
brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O 
God.” But I trust, with David, that I shall 
go with the multitude into the house of 
God, with the voice of praise and thanks- 
giving among such as keep holy-day. 

When I go down from the mountain, like 
Moses, it seems as if I should be enabled to 
convey to my brethren the words and coun- 
sels of wisdom. I shall then say to them, 
“ If you had learned, as I have, how neces- 
sary society is to every one, you would never 
entertain any other feelings for one another, 
except those of love and charity. Only 
banish for a time into such a solitude as 
this those who will not understand these 
things, and who spread war and confusion 
among us ; they will soon learn to feel 
their folly ; they will know, by experience, 
that “ it is not good for man to be alone 
they will learn to love their neighbors as 
themselves, without which love, life, instead 
of being a blessing, is a punishment sent 
from God 


104 


THREE MONTHS 


Decembeb 26 . 

This morning my grandfather has felt 
nimself unwell, from having drank pure 
milk ; happily he recovered sooner than 1 
dared to hope. His wonderful patience 
seems to alleviate all his sufferings. Ho 
said to me calmly, “ I have no anxiety, my 
dear child. It seems far from improbable 
that my life will be prolonged till the time 
of our deliverance. This is all I wish. If 
I had the happiness, before I die, to see you 
in the arms of your father, my departure 
hence would be more joyful than I can ex- 
press. But even if God should be pleased 
to take me to himself while we are alone in 
this chalet, I feel assured your trust in him 
would preserve you from despair, and even 
from fear. 

“ Of what use am I to you i.ow ? I am 
but an encumbrance, a burden which your 
filial piety alone enables you to bear. You 
do everything here. Since I have instructed 
you in the experience of things which you 
were ignorant of at first, it seems as if my 
task was done. Contemplate then, as I do, 
with courage the idea of a rather more 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


105 


speedy separation than wo had looked for- 
ward to ; hut still I bid you hope with con- 
fidence. The care you take of me, and a 
little extra prudence in the management 
of our provisions, will support my life till 
the spring, and I shall again behold the 
green leaves.” 

I could only reply by my tears to these 
affecting words. We remained silent, and it 
required some time for me to recover myself 
sufficiently to set to work in the darkness. 

This evening my grandfather would not 
touch a drop of milk ; and seeing that a 
part remained useless, he gave me a hint to 
make it into cheese, and he instructed me 
in this little work. 

“ It seems,” said he, smiling, “ thai I am 
still of some use to you.” 

For want of rennet, we were obliged to 
turn the milk with a little vinegar. I then 
placed the curd in a mold of earthenware. 
Thus far all went off well ; we shall see the 
result to-morrow 

On my part I gave my grandfather a hint 
of which he approved ; it was to make him 
a toast, and sop it in wine, as I had seen 


JOG 


THREE MONTHS 


my aunt do for him sometimes when he felt 
weak or indisposed. We did it immediate- 
ly ; hut what would I not have given for a 
little sugar to sprinkle upon the hot and 
smoking toast ! Fortunately, the wine we 
have discovered is greatly mellowed by age; 
it is a wnite wine of an excellent vintage 
— “ a wine,” said my grandfather, “ which 
might he served at a prince’s table.” 

“ I only ask of God,” he added, “ to pro- 
long my life till the vines begin to bud.” 

December 27 . 

The cheese has perfectly succeeded. 1 
have placed it on a shelf, and sprinkled it 
with salt. I cannot look at it without my 
mouth watering, and yet how happy should 
T have been if we had not had any sparo 
milk ! To-day we have again milk enough 
to make another cheese. My grandfather 
has only tasted the potatoes which I have 
roasted in the ashes. This, with a little 
bread and wine, is all the nourishment that 
he takes. Alas ! perhaps he is in pain ; 
and, though he tries to conceal it, I can 
perceive that his strength is failing. 











































































. 








♦ 


— * 



UNDER THE SNOW. 


109 


CHAPTER VI. 

KIND INSTRUCTIONS — DARKNESS — SERIOUS THOUGHTS — 

VILLAGE SCHOOL SADNESS THOUGHTS ON NEW 

YEAR’S DAY — GRANDFATHER’S GIFTS COMFORTS — 

ALARMING ILLNESS KIND ATTENTIONS GRANDFA- 
THER’S TALK OF DEATH IMPATIENCE. 

December 28. 

My grandfather now likes to lie in bed 
later, and to go earlier to rest. He consid- 
ders that, next to a little exercise, the com- 
fortable warmth he obtains when lying 
under the woolen blanket and the straw, 
agrees best with him. It is impossible for 
any one to take greater care of himself 
than he does, or to do it in a less selfish 
manner. Whatever he does, whatever he 
says, both instructs and affects me. When 
he sits in his chair, he is mostly employ- 
ed in reading, and teaching mo. What an 
immense progress I have made, under his 
instruction, in a few weeks ! I left the 
plains with the feelings and notions of n 
child ; I have become almost a man here. 

The day which has passed away has not 
been marked by any event. I have worked 


i 10 THREE MONTHS 

as usual, and almost the whole time in the 
dark. I acquire so much facility in the 
practice of this, that it seems as if my sight 
had been transferred to the ends of my 
fingers. I can 'detect the slightest error by 
the feeling, and this inspires me with re- 
flections that are quite new to me. I find 
something so interesting in this way of pro- 
ceeding, that I would advise even those per- 
sons to try it who are in no need of it. 
The sight is such a ready and obliging 
servant, that it does not permit us to re- 
quire of our other senses all that we might 
obtain from them. The touch is also a 
faithful friend, but it waits the orders of 
our will to be of service to us ; it leaves it 
to the mind both to guide and direct it. 
Thus each of our senses and our members 
retains its proper functions ; the mind 
governs, the body obeys. 

These are the reflections that our present 
circumstances inspire. I did not think, 
some time ago, that I should fix my mind 
upon such subjects ; I have learned moie in 
thirty days of confinement, than I did in a 
whole life of freedom. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


Ill 


December 29 . 

The days on which there is no event .,0 
vary our painful existence, my thoughts are 
more vividly fixed upon what may happen 
without ; and the moment they fly from our 
dark and solitary dwelling, they settle 
themselves upon you, my dear father. 
Nevertheless, I am always perplexed where 
to find you. My first impulse is to seek for 
you in our house, or in our fields. I see 
you there alone and sad, your eyes often 
turning to the heights where we are suffer- 
ing from your absence. You at least know 
where we are, and you cannot have given 
up all hopes of seeing us again. For, after 
all, we have not been deprived of every re- 
source. But how are we to know what has 
prevented you from coming to our aid ? 1 

try in vain to flatter myself that nothing 
fatal has hindered you, for a sad foreboding 
tells me that the day of our deliverance 
will be one of mourning. 

Why did you not remain with us ? Per 
haps you have perished in trying to save 
our cattle. In the midst of the darkness 
which so often surrounds me, I listen with 


112 THREE MONTHS 

a superstitious dread. I fancy that I hoard 
the angels warning me of my misfortune. 
I think I have discovered God’s secret in- 
tentions, and I can scarcely recover from 
this wandering of the mind. My grand- 
father’s words at length lecall me to reason 
and patience, and I respect the vail which 
conceals from me both the past and the 
future. Have I lost my father ? Shall I 
lose my grandfather ? Alas ! I know not, 
and it is doubtless good for me to remain 
in ignorance. O God, I will no more offend 
thee by my anxiety and distrust ! I will 
embrace my Saviour’s cross, and wait with 
resignation for the accomplishment of thy 
will. 

December 30 . 

The end of the year draws nigh. This 
is a day on which my school-fellows en- 
joy a liberty that they have longed for too 
much ; they do not go to school to-day, and 
they think it their greatest happiness. So 
thought I too, when I was in the village; 
my thoughts are much changed now. What 
would I not give to pass several hours a day 
in that school-room, which I used to look 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


113 


upon as a prison ! I hear the morning bell 
at whose sound we assemble ; we go in 
helter-skelter, with our books under our 
arms ; every one takes his place ; the master 
rises, and we rise also ; prayer begins and 
sanctifies our labors. 

Then begins the confused murmur of 
voices, repeating in a low tone what they 
will shortly be called upon to repeat aloud. 
The copy-books are opened, and the rustling 
of the leaves on all sides mingles with num- 
berless sounds, which the master interrupts 
by striking upon his desk with his large 
beechen ruler. Several of the boys smile 
3lyly at one another. 

He is going to dictate the exercise ; all 
pens are prepared, and run over the paper 
together. Then comes the practice of arith- 
metic, reading, and singing. 

Thus passing from one work to another, 
in a society formed only with the view of 
interesting and pleasing them, the boys, 
nevertheless, are constantly casting impa- 
tient glances at the wooden clock. The 
quiet pendulum continues its steady pace, 
the weights imperceptibly descend, and the 
8 


!14 


IHREE MONTIIS 


school-boy every moment marks their descent 
upon the wall. Three hours have at length 
passed slowly away ; the time of breaking 
up has come. 

Scarcely is the class dismissed than joy* 
ous cries and the noise of rushing out are 
heard, instead of the former silence and re- 
straint. They spring forward, they run, 
they jostle one another ; games are formed 
in front of the school — too often mingled 
with quarrels. 

I too have had my part in these labors 
and these pleasures ; it seems as if I par- 
took of them still in their remembrance 
here. It is a waking dream — I remember 
and I forget 

“ Poor Louis !” said my grandfather, 
“ what new cause have you got for sighing? 
Shall I he obliged to forbid you the relaxa- 
tion which I recommended to you myself? 
Have more command over your thoughts as 
well as your pen ; occupy both with matter 
that will serve to strengthen your mind; 
consider that your present condition requires 
the greatest firmness, and soon perhaps may 
require more.” 


UNDER THE SNOW. 115 

“Are you not so well to-night, dear 
grandfather ?” 

“ Yes, my child, I am as well as usual ; 
ami if I have just lain down, it is only for 
prudence’ sake. I wish to manage so well 
that in two or three months we may gc 
gayly together down the mountain with 
Blanchette running before us. They will 
be so glad to see us !” 

“ They will not wait till we set out, I can 
assure you ; and they will come and knock 
at our door sooner than you think for.” 

“ They will come and knock at our door !” 
In repeating my words my grandfather 
looked grave and pressed my hand. 

“ And if the messenger of liberty should 
come and summon me, not to our village, 
hut to heaven, what would you do, my hoy ? 
Let us see. We ought to foresee and pre- 
pare ourselves for such an event. You will 
be, I doubt not, an excellent nurse; and as 
long as I live I shall rely upon your strength 
•jf mind ; but afterward . . . you will have 
other duties .... to my remains ; shall you 
be able to fulfill them ?” 

I interrupted my grandfather by my sobs; 


116 


THREE MONTHS 


I begged of him not to go on. We remained 
some time embracing each other ; and now, 
having added this painful scene to my jour- 
nal, I will try and forget it in sleep. 

December 31. 

Happy day ! my grandfather has more 
appetite and more strength ! he has taken 
a little coffee with milk, he has eaten more 
than usual, and has refreshed himself with 
a drop of wine. Thus, that which is a pois- 
on when taken improperly, or in excess, as 
many persons are in the habit of doing, in 
this case is a medicine whose effects I have 
good reason to bless. 

The last day of the year has passed well. 
Grant, 0 God, for Christ’s sake, that I may 
be thankful for it, and finish it in adoring 
thy power and goodness ! 


January 1. 

Last year, on this day, I was in the midst 
of my family. The evening before, my 
father went into town to make some little 
purchases, of which I had my share. In 
the morning I went with him to church ; 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


117 


we had some relations to dinner ; the ehil 
dren danced and sang, and kept up the least 
to a late hour. 

If I had been asked to guess where 1 
should pass New-Year’s Day this year. I 
should certainly not have conceived what I 
now suffer and see around me. Unexpected 
events happen §o often to men that they 
ought to be constantly upon their guard, 
like a soldier who is keeping watch in the 
neighborhood of an enemy. 

My grandfather, thinking that this would 
be but a sorrowful day for me, has been 
doing all he can to amuse me ; he has been 
trying to teach me some games which are 
not without instruction ; he has proposed 
questions to me, which admit of being solved 
in a humorous manner ; his conversation has 
been more gay and cheerful than usual, and 
we made a sort of feast at our supper. He 
made me add the first cheese I had made to 
our roasted potatoes, and I found it quite 
ns nice as 1 expected. I did not even re* 
fuse to have his toast. It w r as truly a feast 
for such hermits as we are. 

Nor was the poor goat forgotten. I look- 


118 


1IIREE MONTHS 


ed out the best hay for her, gave her fresh 
straw, a double ration of salt, and a three- 
fold allowance of kisses. 

May the Lord, whom we have invoked 
both morning and evening, preserve the 
grandson to his grandfather, and the grand- 
father to his grandchild ! 

My grandfather wishes to add here a few 
words with his own hand. 

“ In the name of God, Amen. 

“ It may happen to me to be taken away 
from my friends, before I have the power 
of making my last wishes known to them. 
I have no general disposition to make with 
respect to my worldly goods ; but I wish to 
express my sense of the care and devotion 
of .my dear grandson, Louis Lopraz, now 
present ; and as it is out of my power to 
make him the least present on this day, I 
beg my heirs to supply the defect, by giving 
him on my behalf — 

“ My repeating watch ; 

“ My carbine ; 

“ My Bible, which belonged also to my 
father ; 

u Lastly, my steel seal, on which are en- 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 11D 

graved my initials, which are the same as 
those of my godchild and grandson. 

“ These trifling tokens of remembrance 
will bo most precious to him, I am convinced, 
on account of the affection which unites us ; 
a bond which death itself will not dissolve. 

“ Such is my will. 

“ At the Chalet d’Azinder, Jan. 1, 18 — 
“ Louis Lopraz.” 

Dear and venerable parent ! let me in my 
turn record in my journal the deep expres- 
sion of my gratitude. I feel what an in- 
estimable blessing it has been for me to 
have lived with, you in this lonely retreat. 
I wanted no reward, beyond the kind testi- 
mony which you have been good enough to 
give of me ; and that surely ought to suffice. 

May you yet, for a long time, enjoy the 
society of our friends and relations ! With 
this devout wish, in which they are all so 
much interested, I begin the new year. 

January 2. 

For some time we have not heard a soun<J 
from without, and our seclusion has been 


THREE MONTHS 


i20 

the more complete. We conclude from this 
that a great deal more snow has fallen, 
and that probably the chalet is buried en- 
tirely under the mass. However, the iron 
tube rises still above it, and the smoke 
escapes freely ; to-day some flakes of snow 
have fallen through this narrow passage. 

These white messengers of winter form 
all the connection we have with the world 
If our clock were to stop, we should have 
no means of knowing how the time passes. 
The only means we should have of distin- 
guishing the night from the day is by the 
glimmering of light which we can perceive 
in the morning through the funnel. 

In return, we suffer very little cold in 
our silent cavern. We might have more 
reason to fear that our dwelling would be- 
come unwholesome ; but the little current 
of air which passes through the chimney is 
sufficient to purify the place by yielding us 
a fresh supply. 

When we have lighted the lamp, and, 
employed in our daily occupations, we sit 
before a clear fire, we sometimes forget our 
misfortune, and regain some little degree 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


121 


df cheerfulness. At such moments, I am 
sure that our situation would excite the 
envy of some of my companions. Have we 
not all, at times, wished to be Eobinson 
Crusoe in his desert island ? Nevertheless, 
the barrier of the ocean which separated 
him from other men, was one far more dif- 
ficult to overleap. He had no hope but in 
the arrival of some ship driven out of her 
course, and we are assured that the snow 
will be thawed sooner or later. May God 
only be pleased to preserve our lives till 
then ! 

January 4. 

It was impossible for me to resume my 
pen last night ; or rather I did not think 
of it. Alas ! I had far different matters to 
attend to. 

The day had passed tranquilly. My 
grandfather had little appetite, but he did 
not complain of anything. In the evening, 
after supper, as he was sitting by the fire- 
side, enjoying* with me this moment, which 
is always the pleasantest of the day, he sud- 
denly turned pale, sank down, and but for 
my assistance, would have fallen into the fire. 


122 


THREE MONTHS 


I shrieked with alarm ; I caught him in 
my arms, and with a strength which I could 
never have supposed that I possessed, I car- 
ried him to his bed, where I first set him 
down, and then laid him at full length 
His head and his hands were quite cold ; the 
blood had flowed back to the heart, and I 
was very careful not to raise his head by 
placing anything under it. I recollected, 
at the moment, some instructions which he 
had given me some days before, in case of 
such accidents. I kept his head low, and 
the blood was not long in returning to it ; 
his senses returned at the same moment. 

“ Where am I ? What ! upon my bed ?” 
said my grandfather. 

“ Certainly/ 7 1 replied. “ You have been 
a little faint, and I thought it better to 
place you here ; and you perceive that I did 
right, for the moment you were laid down 
you recovered your senses.” 

“ He has carried me here ! God be praised, 
your strength, dear child, increases in the 
same proportion as mine diminishes. In 
short, we lose nothing, as you see ; we find, 
on the contrary, in this natural revolution, 


UNDER THE SNOW. 123 

now reasons, on your part, for exertion ; on 
mine, for affection toward you.” 

He then threw his arms round my neck ; 
I knelt down by the bed, and we remained 
thus for a good while. 

“ Do not alarm yourself at what has hap- 
pened,” he said calmly, after some minutes. 
“ I attribute it to the fancy I had to taste 
some of your goat’s-milk cheese. I ought 
to have foreseen that, since milk disagrees 
with me, the cheese would he much more 
improper. The crisis is past, and I feel in 
dined to sleep. This disposition to sleep is 
as pleasant as the feelings which preceded 
the fainting fit were painful.” 

He soon fell asleep ; I watched some time 
by him, and when I saw that he was quite 
comfortable, I blessed God, and in my turn 
lay down, commending myself to his pro- 
tection. 

To-day I have been occupied with house* 
hold business. My grandfather remarked 
that our linen, stockings, and the flannel 
which he wears next his skin, required 
washing ; and I therefore begged him to 
remain in bed. T then made some lye, that 


124 


THREE MONTIIS 


is, as well as it could be made without soajx 
He directed my operations. A tolerably 
large cloth, which serves.us for a table-cloth, 
enabled me to separate the ashes from tho 
things that were to be washed. A pail did 
the duty of a washing-tub. I then put all 
these things into hot water ; in the evening 
they were all ready for drying. I am going 
to leave them hanging round the fire till 
the morning. Some embers which remain, 
the warmth from the hearth, and the cur- 
rent of air from the chimney, will complete 
this important operation. 

I forgot to say, that having observed my 
grandfather rubbing his body and his limbs, 
I begged him to avail himself of my feeble 
assistance even for that. I rubbed him 
well with a part of the blanket that we had 
devoted to this work, for nearly an hour, 
lie is convinced that nothing is better to 
make the blood circulate, to supply the 
place of the exercise which he can no longer 
take, and of the open air, from which wt 
have been so long obliged to refrain. 

Alas ! I found his poor body in a sad 
state of emaciation. While I rendered him 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


125 


this trifling service, he never ceased thank- 
ing me. “ It seems to me,” said he, “ as if 
you were restoring me to life ; I feel a com- 
fortable warmth renewed in all my limbs, 
and I even breathe more freely.” 

These words inspired me with fresh ardor ; 
and as he appeared distressed by the trouble 
I was taking, “ Do you not observe,” said I, 
“ that I am myself taking wholesome exer- 
cise ? I assure you that, in being of service 
to you, I am doing myself good ; and I beg 
you will often make use of a remedy which 
is so salutary to your physician.” The in- 
valid is reposing tranquilly near me ; how- 
ever, I have made ample amends for my 
silence yesterday evening, by writing the 
history of two days 

January o. 

My grandfather spoke to me this morn- 
ing of his state, without concealing any- 
thing from me. All his words sound still 
in my ears. What gentleness and wisdom 
combined ! I should be inexcusable if I 
did not profit by them, even young as I 
am. 


126 


THREE MONTHS 


“My child,” he said, after desiring ne 
to sit down at tile head of his bed ; “ I 
can no longer conceal it from yt u ; the 
end of my life is not far distant. Can we 
keep my soul in my body long enough for 
me to behold the day of thy deliverance ? 
I know not ; hut I dare not indulge the 
least hope of it ; my debility increases with 
astonishing rapidity, and it. is probable that 
I shall leave you alone to complete our sad 
winter. 

“ You will, I doubt not, he more afflicted 
at our separation than disturbed by your 
>wn desolation, and your grief will he su- 
perior to your fears ; hut I rely too firmly 
upon your courage and piety to believe that 
you will suffer yourself to he completely 
cast down. You will remember your father, 
whom, I trust, you will certainly see again ; 
and that thought will support you. You 
will soon he convinced that the dangers you 
run in this chalet will not he increased by 
my death. On the contrary, I was becom- 
ing a hindrance to you ; you will no longer 
be in dread of want ; and perhaps at the 
moment of leaving the mountain you will 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


127 


have less encumbrance. I beg you only to 
have patience. Do not expose yourself too 
soon. In so long a captivity a day or two 
more or less is nothing, and you will risk 
everything by anticipating the favorable 
moment. 

“ And why should you hurry yourself? 
Your health up to this time has not suffered 
by our seclusion. You will no longer, it is 
true, have our conversations to amuse you ; 
but how many prisoners are condemned to 
silence for many long years ! These, again, 
often have a conscience stung with remorse; 
while you will be sustained by the consoling 
recollection of duties fulfilled. Only one 
thing causes me much anxiety, my dear 
Louis, if I must tell it you ; I fear the 
effect that my death may have upon your 
imagination. When you see this body de- 
prived of life, it will cause you a feeling oi 
dread, perhaps of horror, very unreasonable 
indeed, but which many people cannot over- 
come. 

“But why should you be afraid of the 
remains of your old grandfather ? Are you 
afraid of me when I am asleep ? The other 


i28 


THREE MONTHS 


night when I fainted you had no idea that 
I could hurt you, you only perceived the ne- 
cessity of assisting me, and you did you* 
duty like a brave man. Well ! if you see 
me fall into that last swoon which is called 
death, conduct yourself in the same sensible 
manner. My body will then only require 
from you one more office, whenever nature 
shall inform you that the hour is come. 
You will have sufficient strength for it, 
which you proved the other night when you 
carried me to this bed. 

“You see that door; it leads into the 
dairy, where we never enter, because it is 
useless to us ; there you will dig a grave as 
deep as you can to deposit my body, till the 
time when you can remove it, and give it 
a regular burial in the village church-yard. 

“ When these sad duties are ended, you 
will find yourself very lonely in this place ; 
you will shed many tears ; you will call to 
me often, but I shall make you no answer. 
Do not give w r ay to useless regret ; address 
yourself only to Him who always answers 
when you call upon him with faith. You 
will understand better than ever the power 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


129 


jl* his aid ; everything else may fail you, 
but he will supply the place of all.” 

Such were the exhortations which my 
giandfather addressed to me this morning; 
and as he found himself comforted by having 
given them to me, he appeared more calm, 
more serene, and almost joyful. For my- 
self, I cannot Be persuaded that a spirit so 
free and so firm can inhabit a body which is 
near its dissolution. The danger is before 
my eyes, and yet it seems far distant. May 
God confirm these presages of good ! 

January 6. 

Another day is gone ! These are our 
words every night. My impatience in- 
creases, and I think the spring will never 
come. Is it the fear of being alone, against 
which my grandfather cautioned me, that 
causes me so much anxiety? I seek to 
divest myself of such unworthy feelings ; i 
will think no more of myself, but of tho 
love &nd mercy of God my Saviour, of his 
favor. Ah ! if I now pray for my grand- 
father’s recovery, it is no longer for my own 
sake, nor to spare me the horrors of solitude. 
9 


130 


TIIREE MONTHS 


CHAPTER VII. 

WKAN8 OP LIGHTING — HIS GRANDFATHERS LAST HOURS 
— HIS PRAYER — PARTING WORDS — HIS DESOLATION 
—THE BURIAL ADDRESS — READS OVER HIS JOURNAL 

January 7. 

Darkness is particularly irksome to the 
sick ; they even say that it is injurious to 
persons in good health. Light was made 
for man, and man for the light. We have 
contrived this morning a way to save our 
oil without remaining entirely in the dark. 
I have made a sort of night-lamp with a 
thin slice of cork, in which I have fixed a 
slender wick. This feeble light is sufficient 
for me to work by; it enlivens my grand- 
father a little ; we shall make use of it for 
the future, and we shall only light the 
lamp when we absolutely want it. 

Doubtless persons accustomed to the 
light of the humblest dwelling in our vil- 
lage would think our chalet very gloomy ; 
hut after the darkness in which we have lived 
so long, it is a pleasure to us to get a 
glimpse of one another, to go about without 
being obliged to feel our way, and to be 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


131 


able to distinguish by this pale light our 
day from our night. 

A layer of oil swims in a glass three- 
fourths full of water, and our little sun 
floats upon this oil. It is placed upon the 
table, and we are just able to discern by its 
light the different articles which serve to 
furnish our kitchen. This half-daylight, 
about the same brightness as that of the 
early daybreak, leads to reflection, and at 
the same time makes us a little more cheer- 
ful; it reminds us of churches in which a 
lighted lamp invites to prayer. None of 
my grandfather’s actions escape me ; I see 
him often clasp his hands, and raise his 
eyes, or fix them upon me. Ah ! I then 
guess his thoughts, and without speaking we 
join in the same wish and the same prayer. 

January 10. 

My God, thy will be done ! lam 

now alone with thee — far away from all the 
world. The day before yesterday .... I 
cannot go on ; I cannot yet relate the cir- 
cumstances of his death. My paper is 
drenched with my tears. 


(32 


THREE MONTHS 


January 12. 

Yes, it is the 12th of January to-day ; 
two days have gone by since I wrote the 
above lines .... My senses are recovering, 
and if it please God will yet gain strength 
If I did not feel that the Lord is with me 
and about my path, I think I should die too, 
were it only through fear. 

January 13 and 14. 

I had gone to bed on the 7 th full of hope ; 
my grandfather seemed to me better than 
usual ; hut before I had fallen asleep I heard 
him groan, and 1 leaped out of bed. With- 
out waiting for him to call me I dressed 
myself, lighted the night-lamp, which was 
prepared, and asked the invalid what he 
was suffering. 

“A faintness,” he said ; “ it will be like 
the other day, or perhaps .... .” 

There he stopped. 

“ Will you take a drop of wine, dea r 
gi andfather ?” 

“ No, my child ; only bathe my temples 
and rub my hands with a little vinegar .... 
and .... take ‘ The Imitation of Jesus Christ/ 


UNDER THE SNOW. 13b 

Read, dear child, that place which you know 
. . . . where I have placed a mark.” 

I obeyed, and when I had rubbed hia 
hands and temples with the vinegar, I light- 
ed the lamp that I might see better; 1 
knelt down, and with a trembling voice l 
read the page he had marked. 

It was at the commencement of the ninth 
chapter of the fourth book : “ Lord ! all 
that the heavens and the earth contain are 
thine. I will present unto thee a willing 
offering, and will abide with thee forever 
as far as these words, “ I present to thee 
also all that is good within me, that it may 
please thee to correct and sanctify it, to ac- 
cept and to perfect it more and more, and 
lead me to a good and blessed end, although 
worthless and unprofitable, and the least of 
all men.” 

When I had read thus far he stopped me, 
told me to draw near, took my hands in h’s, 
and offered up a prayer, which 1 will faith- 
fully write down as far as my memory will 
allow. 

“ Lord ! at the moment when I am about 
to appear before thee I ought to be occupied 


i34 


THREE MONTHS 


with nothing but my own salvation, and to 
tremble at the thoughts of thy judgments ; 
pardon me if I cannot remove my thoughts 
from another subject which disturbs me. 
Thou art about to take me to thyself, and 
I must leave this poor child alone. A Ter 
having separated him from his father, I am 
about to abandon him myself! 

“ I tremble at the thoughts of what he is 
about to suffer; I fear, above all, lest his 
faith should grow weak, and that he should 
want confidence in Thee. Thou hearest, 0 
Lord : listen to me I beseech thee ! Let m) 
example instruct him, and by seeing me 
depart in peace let him learn to live as 1 
hope to die, trusting wholly in the Lord 
Jesus Christ ! 

“ Alas ! I had desired to leave the moun 
tain with him, and to behold again our 
forests and orchards, but thy will has other 
wise ordained ; suffer then my grandchild, 
at least, to revisit them. Inspire him with 
sufficient firmness and prudence. Grant 
that, after my death, he may be as he has 
ever been during my life, attentive, perse* 
vering, and full of courage. Let not his 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 135 

father or our friends have to reproach me 
with having brought him here. 

“ If it should he thy pleasure to restore 
him to them, I have but to bless my lot ; for 
I feel sensible that the trial to which thou 
hast subjected him, through me, will be of 
lasting service to him ; he will never forget 
the impressions he has received in this 
place. 

“ Pardon me, 0 Lord ! that I occupy my 
thoughts so much with him ; it is thy glory 
that I still seek in the midst of these suf- 
ferings, and I am more anxious about the 
eternal salvation of my dear boy than about 
the dangers that may threaten his life.” 

Such were nearly his words. He pro- 
nounced them slowly with a weak voice, and 
only by long intervals. Then he made me 
recite all the prayers I knew by heart ; he 
recollected himself, occasionally, passages 
from the Bible, and sayings of our Saviour, 
and repeated them with a fervor and resig 
nation which made me weep. 

I must add one circumstance, trifling in- 
deed, but which affected me still more deep- 
ly. Blanchette, surprised perhaps at seeing 


13G 


TIIREE MONTHS 


the light burning at such an unusual hour, 
began to bleat violently. 

“ Poor Blanchette !” said the dying man ; 
“ 1 must take my last leave of you. Go 
and loose her, dear child, and bring her up 
to the bed.” 

I did what he desired, and Blanchette in 
her usual familiar way placed her two fore- 
feet on the edge of the bed, to see if she 
could find something to eat. We had accus- 
tomed her to take a little salt out of our 
hands. I thought I should please the in- 
valid by placing a little in his hand ; Blan- 
chette did not fail to run to it, and to lick 
it a long time. 

“ Continue to be a good nurse,” said he, 
placing his hand with some difficulty on her 
neck. He then turned away his hand, and 
I led Blanchette back to her manger and 
tied her up. 

My dying parent from that time scarcely 
uttered any connected words ; he only gave 
me to understand that he wished me to re- 
main near him holding his hand ; I felt at 
intervals a slight pressure, and as his looks 
spoke to me at the same moment, T under- 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


187 


stood that he was trying to collect his last 
strength to express his affection for me, and 
to tell me that his love for me would only 
cease with his life. 

I spoke some words of affection to him ; 
then his countenance lighted up, and I saw 
that it would be a pleasure to him if I went 
on. I leaned, therefore, toward him, and 
said, with all the firmness I could assume : 
“ Adieu ! adieu ! we shall meet again in 
heaven. I will strive to he faithful to the 
lessons you have given me, in order to obtain 
that great reward. I believe in God, our 
Father ; I believe in the merits of the Sav- 
iour, and the grace of the Holy Spirit. Be 
not uneasy on my account ; you have done 
so much to instruct me, that God is now all 
I want and all my desire.” 

Here the pressure of the hand was more 
distinct ; and after making a vain effort to 
answer me, he could only express the pleas 
ure he fe*t by a sigh. 

“ I will remember,” I continued, “ all the 
advice you have given me for my preserva- 
tion. For the love of you, I will neglecf 
nothing which may tend to prolong my life. 


138 


THREE MONTHS 


and procure my deliverance from this ohalet 
Adieu ! dear grandfather ! Alas ! you will 
meet my mother in heaven, and, perhaps, 
my father too ; tell them I will strive at all 
times to follow their example and yours 
Adieu ! adieu !” 

1 felt another very faint pressure ; it was 
the last. His hand, which had been grow- 
ing gradually cold, let mine drop ; he died 
without a struggle, without even a sigh. 

I was not horror-struck at first ; I was too 
much stunned. But when I had recovered 
from the first shock, and found myself alone 
in this wild desolate place — alone with a 
corpse — I then felt an involuntary shudder- 
ing, especially when night was come. 

In the morning, I recollected myself suf- 
ficiently to wind up the clock, and to milk 
Blanchette. The cold obliged me to light 
x. fire ; that engaged me for some time ; hut 
then I fell into a deep stupefaction. It nap- 
pened that there arose, in the evening, so 
violent a wind as to cause me to hear those 
mournful sounds of moaning to which I had 
been for some time unaccustomed. 

I was by the fireside ; I was watching by 


i T »DER THE SNOW. 


139 


the light of the night-lamp, with my back 
turned to the bed. Gradually a fit of shiv- 
ering came over me ; I could no longer com- 
mand my thoughts ; my distress would luve 
gone on increasing, and perhaps have proved 
fatal, if I had not thought of a means of 
calming it down, which one might have sup- 
pose only adapted to increase it. I went up 
to the body, at first with reluctance, after- 
ward with more resolution ; I looked at it, 
I even dared to touch it. It was a painful 
moment ; however, 1 persevered ; I repeated 
the action several times, and I felt my ter- 
rors gradually subside. 

From that moment I did not cease, from 
time to time, to return to the side of the 
corpse; I fulfilled those offices which per 
sons who are accustomed to them perform 
with so much coolness. The expression of 
the countenance was so calm and so mild 
that it again drew from me a flood of tears 

“ No,” I said, sobbing, “ the mortal re 
mains of my dear old parent no longer 
alarm me.” 

However, my anguish returned, when 1 
began to feel sleepy at night ; at my age it 


140 


THREE MONTHS 


is not to bo resisted. “ Shall 1 go,” I 
thought, “ and lie down bj the corpse ?” 1 

had not resolution enough for that, I must 
confess ; and I sought a miserable resource 
against the superstitious fears which were 
beginning again to await me. I went and 
took refuge with Blanchette. The warmth 
and feeling of life which the contact of this 
poor animal gave me, the gentle sound of 
her ruminating, restored me some degree of 
courage. 

But why, when the light was put out, did 
1 begin to tremble again in all my limbs ? 
Poor child that I am ; what safety could I 
find in that faint light? My breath extin- 
guishes it ; my hand lights it again ; and 
yet I depend upon that glimmering flame 
for tranquillity. 

At length the Almighty, to whom I pray 
ed fervently, had compassion upon me ; he 
restored me to composure and I slept 
soundly. 

The next day, as soon as I awoke, the 
conflicts of the former one began again ; ] 
busied myself as much as possible with the 
goat and with my work, and more particu 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


141 


larly I frequently approached the corpse ; 1 
even held for a long time that dear and 
venerable head in my arms. The more my 
fears subsided, the more my affliction in- 
creased ; and I gave myself credit for so 
natural and reasonable a change. 

I began then to think what I ought to do 
about the burial, and I called to mind what 
my grandfather had said to me. I was ter- 
ribly alarmed by the difficulties that pre- 
sented themselves. Besides, my grand- 
father had spoken to me of the danger of 
premature interment ; and I believe he did 
so with a secret view to this emergency. I 
resolved therefore to wait till nature itsell 
should compel me to fulfill this last duty 
The strong affection which I had for my 
grandfather prevented me from yielding to 
the unworthy motive of removing from my 
sight, as soon as possible, a repulsive object. 

Bed-time was almost as painful to me as 
it was the night before. In order to acquire 
a little more firmness, I thought of taking 
a small quantity of the wine which had 
been too sparingly used by the deceased. 

When I had poured into his glass what 


142 


THREE MONTHS 


appeared to be sufficient, I was seized, be- 
fore I carried it to my lips, with a most 
painful oppression of the heart. “ Useless 
aid,” I said to myself: and I thought of 
I he pleasure with which I had seen my deaT 
grandfather try it for the first time. The 
being unaccustomed to any kind of ferment- 
ed liquor, and the extreme want in which 1 
stood of strength after so many trials, 
caused the wine to take a powerful effect, 
and I had another good night’s rest. 

The 10th of January I attempted to write 
my journal : hut I found it impossible to 
go on with it ; however, on that day from 
the morning, I was in a much more com- 
fortable state of mind. Prayer had given 
me courage ; my feelings became calm by 
degrees ; and, as my grandfather had fore- 
told, fear yielded to sorrow. 

How many tears 1 shed over your body, 
my venerable parent ! I see, however, that 
death is beginning to leave its livid traces. 
My senses would have revolted at the sight, 
had my heart been less full. It was in vain 
that I was warned that it was become a case 
of necessity to prepare for the burial'; 1 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


143 


thought of the means of still preserving 
those decaying remains. At length 1 
thought of God’s will so strongly expressed 
in Scripture, and which is in such strict ac- 
cordance with reason and nature : “ Then 
shall the dust return to the earth as it was.” 

I collected my tools, and opened the door 
of the dairy. “ Thus,” said I to myself, 
“ you pass through different labors ! After 
having been both nurse and physician, you 
are now the grave-digger ; you are com- 
pelled to perform yourself that office which 
relations have a repugnance to witnessing.” 

The first strokes revolted me ; I was 
obliged to pause. It was not that my arms 
refused their office ; it was the distress of 
my mind that deprived me of the energy 
that was requisite. Every time that I 
smote the earth, a loud echo answered from 
the vaulted roof, which was built over like 
a cellar. I was obliged to get accustomed to 
this work and I devoted the whole day to a 
labor that might have been accomplished 
in two hours. 

In fact, the soil was light and sandy, and 
at length I was obliged to shovel it out, 


t44 


THREE MONTII& 


without being obliged to dig it first with 
the spade. I availed myself of this facility 
to dig a very deep pit ; for, I said to my* 
self, if the chalet should be unoccupied foi 
some time, whether I leave it, or whether 
I die in my turn, I ought to do all I can 
to protect the body from beasts of prey. 
Besides, my health required the grave to be 
very deep, so that no smell should exhale 
from the nlace where it was made. I went 
- w«en with my mournful work, until the 
>it was over my head. 

The clock struck six. The night was 
come, and dark thoughts came with it. For, 
even without being able to perceive any ex- 
ternal objects, the very idea that darkness 
reigned around, made me feel, even in the 
chalet, the sad impressions of night. I had 
not the courage to complete the interment, 
though it was becoming very necessary. 

The violent exercise I had taken soon 
sent me to sleep. It was only delayed a 
few moments by the caresses of Blanchette, 
who seems pleased to have me so near her, 
and does not object to serve me for a 
pillow. 


tJNDER THE SNOW. 


145 


On the 11th of January my first thought 
was to complete my painful task; and, 
when I had lighted my lamp, I again found 
my courage fail. I was obliged to have re- 
course again to means which I ought to 
have known how to avoid. Instead of break- 
fasting as usual upon warm milk and po- 
tatoes, I took a little bread and wine. This 
nourishment restored to me some degree of 
firmness, which was not enough to do honor 
to my character, but of which I availed 
myself without delay. I had reflected be- 
forehand upon the means of executing the 
task, and I had prepared everything the 
evening before. I placed on two stools by 
the side of the bed, a plank which was suf- 
ficiently large both in breadth and length, 
in fact the very one whose fall was the 
cause of my discovering “ The Imitation of 
Jesus Christ ” I then got upon the bed, 
and putting a cord under the arm-pits of 
the corpse, I succeeded in bringing this ex- 
tremity of the body on the plank. The 
lower part gave me less trouble. I tied the 
body on the plank, and when I saw it thus, 
with the hands crossed upon the breast, 


146 


THREE MONTHS 


yielding to my will, with the head inclining 
mournfully to one side, I hurst into tears, 
and uttered loud cries. 

“ My grandfather ! you are leaving _ie ; 
you hear me no more ; you cannot answer 
me !” 

I know not what unmeaning words I thus 
addressed to his dead body, in the trans- 
ports of my grief. It would have lasted 
perhaps a long time, if I had had a com- 
forter near me ; his words, perhaps, would 
only have irritated and inflamed my grief. 
But when I saw these cold remains as in- 
sensible to my complaints as to my actions, 
its motionless appearance soon restored to mo 
the serenity of which I stood in so much need. 

I had prepared two rollers of wood ; I 
placed them in a proper position, and with- 
drawing with the greatest precaution the 
stool which supported the lower extremity 
of the body, I let the end of the plank 
gently down upon the ground. In spite of 
all my efforts, the operation was not so sucv 
eessful at the other end, and the fall of the 
body was so sudden as to give me a beating at 
the heart, which compelled me again to stop. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


147 


Dear grandfather, when you taught me, 
at the front of our house, to convey a heavy 
body upon rollers, we little thought that I 
should ever have occasion to profit by your 
lessons on so sad an occasion. The recol- 
lection of what you then said to me recur- 
red vividly to my imagination, I thought 
1 heard you again ; and when the motion 
of this funeral burden shook your head, as 
if it were making signs of approval, I was 
so much affected, that I turned away my 
eyes, as persons walking along a precipice 
do through fear of giddiness. 

I had smoothed and leveled the way ; the 
corpse was soon at the side of the grave. It 
would have been easy for me to let it fall 
in ; hut I could not hear to treat it with so 
little respect. Two smaller planks placed 
across supported it above the grave. When 
that which bore the feet was once removed, 
it was placed in an oblique position, aftei 
having experienced another shock which 1 
could not prevent ; a cord which I passed 
under the shoulders, after having fixed oneol 
the ends firmly to a stake, allowed me to let 
the body descend gently into its place of rest. 


148 


THREE MONTHS 


All the difficulties were now surmounted ; 
what remained to be done gave me no 
anxiety with respect to the execution of it ; T 
could now freely give way to my grief. 
Seated upon the mound which I had raised 
with my hands, I wept a long time by the 
open grave. I could not summon resolution 
to throw the first shovelful of earth upon 
the body. 

“ Before I fulfill this dreadful duty/’ I 
said to myself, “ let me in the best way I 
can discharge that of a minister.” I kneel- 
ed down immediately, and searched my 
memory for all I knew of prayers and 
Scriptural passages adapted to this cere- 
mony. I took “ The Imitation of Jesus 
Christ ” in my hand, and knowing it so 
well, it was not difficult for me to find out 
places such as were applicable to the occa- 
sion, and which my grandfather had pointed 
>ut to me. 

0 my dear grandfather, you are now 
Lappy ! I alone at this time stand in need 
of consolation ; it was with a joy beyond 
expression that I read over your mortal 
remains the chapter upon “ the quiet and 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


I4y 

peaceful man,” and that “ on purity of 
heart and sincerity of intention.” There 
were so many features like yours, t^at it 
seemed to me as if the author had bee': 
drawing your portrait. 

“ Begin,” says he, “ by establishing peace 
firmly in yourself, and you may then be 
able to communicate it to others.” 

That is what you have done, good and 
just man! and your peace of mind is be- 
queathed to me. 

“ The peaceful man confers more benefits 
upon his neighbor than the learned man,” 
says The Imitation. 1 cannot conceive, dear 
parent, what was wanting in your knowl- 
edge, though you have a hundred times 
spoken of your ignorance ; but you were so 
kind and gentle, that you inspired me with 
an ardent desire to testify my love to you 
by my docility, and to show my docility by 
the progress I made. 

“ If you are good and pure,” so speaks 
the book, “ you will see clearly, and under- 
stand everything ; a pure heart penetrates 
earth and heaven. Every man judges of ex- 
ternal things by the disposition of his heart.” 


THREE MONTHS 


loO 

You were good and pure, my dear grand- 
father ! which enabled you to read my heart 
more easily and more clearly than I could 
myself. You must often have found me 
deserving of reproof, and nevertheless you? 
indulgence was greater than your penetra- 
tion. Your knowledge of me, in this re- 
spect, was useless ; you did not cease, with 
all my faults, to love me. 

These were some of the words which I 
addressed to him with tenderness. It seem- 
ed as if, in speaking aloud, I was no longer 
in solitude. The book replied to me, and 
kept up my emotion. At length I stopped 
from exhaustion ; I recovered myself, and 
no longer delayed doing what remained to 
be done. The grave was soon filled. I 
passed the remainder of the day in en- 
graving with the point of my knife tlu 
following inscription upon a piece of ma- 
ple : — 

“Here rest- the body of Louis Lopra*, 
who died in the night of January the 7tli, 
18 — , in the arms of his grandson, Louis 
Lopraz, who buried him with his own hands.” 

I nailed this piece of wood to a post, 


UNDER TIIE SNOW 


151 


which I fixed upon the mound over the 
grave ; after which I shut the door and re- 
turned to the kitchen, where Blanchette 
was my only companion. 

However, although I was much more at 
ni} ease now the corpse was no longer lying 
on the bed, I found that I had not quite 
overcome my weakness. I resolved to strug- 
gle with it. I had been led by it to lock 
the door of the dairy ; I went immediately, 
opened it, and then fastened it only with 
the latch. I determined also to pay fre- 
quent visits to the tomb, and always without 
a light ; I have done this for two days, and I 
say my prayers there night and morning. 

The day before yesterday seemed weari- 
some and to want occupation. The urgent 
business in which I had till then been em- 
ployed no longer called forth my exertions, 
and I had now to contend with myself. I 
sought in labor amusement which I could 
not find, I endeavored to fix my thoughts 
upon everything which I wanted to do ; but 
1 could not escape from myself. In the 
evening I tried to write, but again I was 
unable to do it. 


152 


THREE MONTHS 


Yesterday, which was the 13th, a thought 
came into my head to read over my journal 
from the beginning. It will easily be be- 
lieved that this reading affected me greatly; 
but I ought also to add, that it did me 
much good in recalling to me, with renewed 
force, the lessons and the virtues of my 
grandfather. As soon as I had finished, I 
felt the want of pouring out my grief in 
this journal, which I began by his advice. 
At length I devoted the whole of yesterday 
and to-day to the relating of the sad event 
which has caused such a melancholy change 
in my situation. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


153 


* CHAPTER VIII. 

IMPRESSION OF SPIRITS — FEARFUL ACCIDENT — FOOD 

FAILS — DREADS KILLING BLANCHETTE THINKS OF 

LEAVING THE CHALET PREPARES A SLEDGE — AT 

HOME — THE RESCUE FROM IMPRISONMENT — EMBRACE 

— DESCEND TO THE VILLAGE — HIS FATHER’S TRIALS 

— CONCLUDING REFLECTIONS. 

January 15. 

Yes, my lot. is greatly changed ! I per- 
ceive it more and more every day. What 
then ? When I had a friend with me, I 
dared to complain ! I compared my present 
situation with my former one. How much 
I now regret the condition I then deplored ! 
God punishes me for my discontent. I am 
alone ! I am alone ! That thought pursues 
me all day. 

January 16. 

I passed the day in the same state ; l 
felt myself depressed and discouraged, and 
I should have gone to bed as desolate as I 
did the night before, but for one circum- 
stance, which I cannot call a miracle be- 
cause it was only a natural occurrence, hut 


154 


THREE MONTHS 


»vhich struck me as a earning ol Provi- 
dence. 

I had concluded my silent evening; 1 
had just put out the fire, and was going tc 
do the same with the light, when I heard 
a slight noise in the chimney. It was a 
hit of rubbish which had fallen covered 
with soot. The soot had caught fire and 
caused a faint smell, and I went under the 
flue to see that all was safe. While with 
my head thrown back I was vainly search- 
ing for any traces of fire on the walls, a star 
passed over the iron tube, and I observed 
it crossing it slowly at its greatest breadth. 

This appearance lasted but a moment, 
yet it was enough to affect me greatly. 

One of those suns, then, which the Creator 
has dispersed over the firmament, sends its 
rays to shine upon me, and visits me even 
at the bottom of my tomb ; it speaks to mo 
of the power of my God ; it invites me to 
adore him and to hope ! I could not resist 
this appeal ; I fell on my knees, and for the 
first time for many days I felt again my 
soul burn with that ardor which the lessons 
of my grandfather had kindled in it. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


155 


January 17. 

How difficult it is to preserve and enter- 
tain the salutary impressions which a good 
impulse has produced in us ! I had gone to 
bed full of joy, and I rose up more languid 
than ever. I recollected, as nearly as I 
could, the hour when the star passed by, 
and 1 hoped to see it again to-day ; but 
whether it changed its position, or whether 
the sky was clouded, I know not, but I 
could not perceive it. 


January 18. 

While my soul is vainly seeking the 
nourishment it has lost, my body is well 
supplied with food, which, if it cannot make 
my heart glad, ought at least to give me 
confidence. The portion of Blanchette’s 
milk which I do not consume, serves me 
every day to make a small cheese ; I do this 
much less by precaution than to direct my 
thoughts. But I do not get accustomed to 
my solitude ; T try in vain to invite sleep, 
and to remain at rest. The days seem to 
have no end. 


156 


THREE MONTHS 


January 19 

I write for writing’s sake. What can 1 
find to fill my journal ? If it were to give 
a true picture, it would be one of the most 
frightful sorrow. I try to take up my pen, 
as formerly, and to exercise my mind a lit- 
tle ; useless endeavor ! I cannot shake off 
this torpor. 

January 20. 

The malady I am suffering from is the 
worst that I can imagine. My first grief 
when we found ourselves imprisoned, my 
fear when the wolves seemed to be attack- 
ing us, the mournful scene of my grand- 
father’s death and burial, never made me 
suffer so much as the depression which I now- 
feel. Is it a weariness of mind which op- 
presses me? I never knew the torment of 
this feeling, from which even prayer cannot 
release me. 

January 21. 

Ai long as the poor goat has a hand to 
feed her she will never trouble herself about 
the void that surrounds her. I am the same 
to her as my grandfather would have been, 
or as a stranger would be. She stands in 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


157 


aeed of me without being conscious of it* 
she avails herself of mj care without ac- 
knowledging it; I am sometimes almost 
tempted to reproach Her. What folly ! In- 
gratitude cannot dwell with brutes who are 
without reason. 

But I myself, enlightened as I am by the 
divine intelligence, do I know how to make 
that use of it for which God gave it to me ? 
Am I more grateful than this poor ignorant 
brute? Unhappy being that I am, may I 
only have grace to preserve myself from 
murmuring and despair ! 

January 22. 

I write down this date in my book ; there 
is nothing else to make me remember the 
day. What am I become ! 


January 23. 

I have been near perishing by a sudden 
terrible death, which would have surprised 
me in the midst of my sinful despondency. 
May I again call this a miracle? What 
gt»od would it be to me to know how God 
deals with me, provided the events which he 
directs produce their proper effect! 


158 


THREE MONTHS 


I had remarked for some days that the 
weather was much milder ; I scarcely want* 
ed any fire, and the smoke ascended less 
easily. To-day, about two o’clock in the 
afternoon, I heard a dull rumbling sound 
like the distant rolling of thunder ; it seem* 
ed to approach rapidly ; it soon became fear* 
ful, and I felt a violent shock. 

1 uttered a loud cry. Several utensils 
were thrown down, a thick cloud of dust 
filled the kitchen ; the cracking of the beams 
told me that the chalet had been severely 
shaken ; however, I saw everything was 
right as far as I could see. 

I made the round of the other parts of 
the house. I had scarcely entered the cow- 
house when I saw the fearful traces of the 
accident; the earth was covered Auth plaster, 
the wall had given way ; it was visibly out 
of the perpendicular, but it had not fallen ; 
a part of the roof toward the mountain was 
broken. This was all ; and I concluded that 
the mass which had caused the damage had 
fallen against the chalet. Was it a piece 
of rock detached from the precipice that 
overhangs it? Was it not more probably 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


150 


an avalanche which had been formed a little 
above, in consequence of the mildness of the 
weather, and which, having not yet acquired 
sufficient strength and size, had been unable 
to overleap the obstacle opposed to it? 

My emotion was very great ; it even lasts 
yet ; I frequently thank the Almighty for 
the warning he has given me. May it arouse 
my heart up, and may it not sink again ! 
Yes ; I confess that this new trial was neces- 
sary for me. I had fallen into a guilty 
state of dejection ; I am happily delivered 
from it, and I will go and bless God upon 
my grandfather’s tomb. 

January 24 . 

God is not willing that I should be again 
exposed to needless dejection ; he has in- 
flicted upon me a new subject of anxiety — 
the goat’s milk decreases. I thought I had 
observed it for some days ; it is now nu 
longer doubtful. 

January 25 . 

My grandfather seems to have certainly 
foreseen my being detained here, for he gave 
me much advice how to act in order to ex- 


160 


THREE MONTHS 


tricate myself from embarrassment. He 
said to me one day : “ What should we do if 
Blanchette were to leave off giving us milk ? 
We should be absolutely reduced to the ne- 
cessity of killing her, to provide ourselves 
with food.” He then explained to me the 
manner in which the flesh must be pre- 
served. 

Must I then be reduced to such a cruel 
extremity ? 

January 26 . 

If things do not grow worse, I may be 
free from anxiety. Blanchette still gives 
me enough milk for my daily food. I can- 
not make any more cheese, it is true ; but 
I have yet some in store. I have examined 
into what remains of other matters, and I 
have passed the whole day in calculating 
how long they will last without reckoning 
upon anything else. This will not be more 
than a fortnight. 

January 27 . 

The milk decreases, and the goat fattens 
in proportion. So, in case the milk should 
entirely fail, the poor beast is preparing her- 
self to feed me with her own flesh. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


161 


January 30. 

My mina is occupied with one constant 
and harrowing thought ; shall I he reduced 
to the necessity of becoming the butcher of 
Blanchette ? Shall I he compelled, in order 
to prolong my sorrowful life, to cut the 
throat of the animal which has hitherto 
supported me ? I have now not more than 
half an allowance of milk. 


February 1. 

Yesterday the milk had not decreased, 
but that cost me something. I had given 
the goat a triple measure of salt, she had 
drunk more ; I discovered it in milking her. 
Unhappily it will be impossible for me to 
go on in this manner, for if I am obliged 
to kill my poor Blanchette, the salt will be 
absolutely necessary. Kill Blanchette ! 

To-day I have been more economical with 
the salt, and in consequence have had much 
less milk. 


February 2. 

1 have heard it said, that fowls, if they 
are too well fed and too much fattened, lay 
fewci eggs; and I conceived the idea this 
11 


162 


THREE MONTHS 


morning of reducing the quantity of hay 
that I give Blanchette, thinking it might 
produce a similar effect. It has not suc- 
ceeded. Having less nourishment, she has 
given even less milk than the day before ; 
and I have gained nothing but the pain of 
hearing her bleating most sorrowfully for 
more than half the day. 

February 3. 

I have made a new experiment, quite as 
unsuccessful as that of yesterday. I tried 
to make Blanchette eat straw instead of hay, 
thinking that perhaps this change of regi- 
men might make a change in the effects of 
the nourishment. The goat has only yield- 
ed to my wishes with the greatest difficulty, 
and, whether out of spite or from suffering, 
has scarcely given me more than a few drops 
of milk. 

February 4. 

I will torment her no more ; if I must kill 
her, I will render her existence as agreeable 
as 1 can to the last moment. To-day she 
has been fed plentifully, and in consequence 
has been a better nurse. But I have little 
hopes that this will last ; I had better leave 


HNDER THE SNOW. 


163 


nature to itself. After having done my best 
to avoid a cruel alternative, I must try to 
submit to it. 

February 7. 

In vain I pray as well as work. God, as 
it seems, answers me not ; he knows better 
than I do what is proper for me, and I re- 
sign myself to bis divine will. Would it 
become me to murmur when I behold the 
calm tranquillity of this poor beast which 1 
am going to make my victim ? Ought the 
gift of reason to he a less effectual resource 
for me than the want of foresight in the 
poor brute is for her ? 

It is now not worth while to milk Blan- 
chette twice a day. I waited till the even- 
ing in the hope of obtaining a larger quan- 
tity at a time, hut she will hardly allow me 
(o come near her. I cause her pain in the 
operation of milking ; instinct teaches her 
that I am treating her improperly; she * 
draws back, and refuses me the little that 
she has yet to give. Alas ! I weary her 
with my attempts, and it is only because I 
wish to spare her that blow which she does 
not expect. 


164 


THREE MONTHS 


Februam 8. 

I will own my weakness ; I shed, tears to- 
day when I made a last vain attempt to 
milk Blanchette, and to ask of her the trib- 
ute which she has so long paid me. When 
she saw me stop she gave me a look of de- 
fiance, as if she was standing on her guard 
against any further attempt. I then threw 
away my pail ; I sat down near the poor 
beast, embraced her, and wept bitterly. 

She continued to munch her food all the 
same, which she mingled with occasional 
bleatings and fond looks. They say that a 
goat distinguishes no one, and that she 
never shows that jealous and devoted affec- 
tion which is seen in the dog ; but, after all, 
Blanchette loves her companion, and trusts 
to him ; she seems to expect from me her 
food and all the little attentions I have be- 
stowed upon her ; and must I then plunge 
a knife in her throat? I shall make her 
suffer, too, being inexperienced, and I shall 
Bee her defending herself against me. 

God has given the beasts to man for his 
food as I well know ; but it is no offense to 
trim to attach one’s self to those which have 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


165 


been of groat service to us, and whi* h he 
has endowed with such an attractive gentle- 
ness ; I shall refrain then as long as possi 
hie from this cruel sacrifice. I have yet 
provisions enough left for several days, and 
L will be as sparing of them as I can. 

February 12. 

It is impossible for me to keep my journal 
regularly in the midst of so many troubles. 
My food diminishes ; I cannot reduce my- 
self to a lower diet without risking my life. 
Blanchette, who grows daily more fat, seems 
to offer me better food: that ought to rejoice 
me; yet I never caressed her so much, and 
I am making the necessity to which I shall 
soon be reduced, more painful every day. 

February 13. 

] have been searching all the house over 
and over again ; I have even examined the 
ground in many places, to discover, if possi- 
ble, any hidden provisions ; 1 have only in- 
creased my hunger by these exertions. The 
very idea of being now unable to satisfy it 
renders it, I believe, daily more acute. 


166 


THREE MONTHS 


I have said to myself, “After a shoit 
time, perhaps, Blanchette’s milk will re* 
turn.” Appearances do not favor this sup- 
position ; her udder, so swollen and so full 
some time ago, has shrunk almost to noth* 
ing ; however, I made one more attempt to 
get a few drops of milk, but in vain. 

February 17 . 

The cold has become so intense since yes- 
terday evening that I am obliged to keep 
up a constant fire ; certainly, with this tem- 
perature, I shall not fear shutting up the 
flesh of my poor victim in the stable when 
it freezes very hard without any other pre- 
caution ; but the weather may grow milder. 
I must decide then without delay ; there now 
only remains just salt enough to preserve 
the m^at. 

February 18 . 

The cold is most severe ; it has reminded 
me of the wolves. Nothing now can prevent 
them from running over the mountain My 
God, in this sad condition it is the only 
death I fear. If it were thy pleasure to 
direct an avalanche to swallow me up this 


UNDER THE SNOW. 167 

daj, I should regard death as a deliver- 
ance. 

February 20. 

1 have taken a grand resolution. I will 
lea's e the chalet to-morrow. I will write in 
my journal, which I will leave upon the table, 
how I came to decide upon this measure. 

Yesterday morning Blanchette’s bleat- 
ings awoke me from a frightful dream. I 
thought that I was, with bloody hands, cut- 
ting up the quivering limbs of this poor 
animal ; her head lay before me, and yet I 
heard the most mournful bleatings proceed 
from her throat. These, indeed, I heard ifi 
reality. I awoke with the tears running 
down my cheeks. What a pleasure it was 
to see Blanchette still alive ! I ran to her, 
and she fondled me more than ever. My 
happiness did not last long ; I reflected that 
my food would be exhausted in two days ; 
it was necessary to make up my mind. 1 
took a knife and sharpened it on the hearth. 
1 was absolutely in despair; it seemed as if 
I was about to commit murder ; and, after 
staggering forward to strike the fatal blow, 
I stopped, stung with remorse. 


168 


THREE MONTHS 


My hands were numbed with cold ; this 
was a reason for delaying an act which 
caused me so much repugnance. I lighted 
a good fire, and began to debate with my* 
self as I sat before it. “ If the wolves can 
walk upon the snow,” I said suddenly to 
myself, “ why should not I walk on it too ?” 

This idea made my heart leap for joy ; 
then fear took its place. I shall go and 
give myself up to these ravenous beasts ; 
and to avoid feeding upon Blanchette, I shall 
expose myself to become the prey of wolves ! 

“ And if I kill the goat,” I said to my- 
self afterwards, “ am I so sure that her 
flesh will last out till the day of my deliv- 
erance? I have sometimes seen the Jura 
quite white till the summer ; let me not 
then lose the opportunity which offers itself, 
while the snow is frozen. 

“ An attack from wolves on our road is 
by no means certain ; for if I once set out, 
our pace will be rapid— we will go down in 
a sledge.” 

1 leaped up at this thought. My resolu- 
tion was taken, and from that moment 1 
worked hard to put it in execution. 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


169 


Two days sufficed for the construction of 
the rude carriage that was necessary for our 
journey. I devoted to this purpose the best 
wood that I had remaining. I made the 
Daser of the sledge very broad, to prevent 
it from sinking in the snow. I mean to 
fasten the goat on the hinder part, and to 
tie her legs so that she cannot move ; I shall 
place myself in front. Accustomed, in the 
sports of my childhood, to guide a sledge 
down steep declivities, I hope, if no accident 
happen, to arrive speedily in the plain. 

I am going to bed, however, not unmov- 
ed. I look with affection upon this prison, 
where I have suffered so much, and where I 
must leave my grandfather’s remains. I 
am fearful when I think upon the distance 
which separates me from the village ; but I 
will not recede. The conveyance is pre- 
pared ; here is the cord with which I mean 
to tie Blanchette’s feet. ; here is the straw 
which will furnish her with both bed and 
shelter; the blanket in which I shall wrap 
myself up, and, lastly, “ The Imitation of 
Jesus Christ .” From that I will never 
part; it shall go with me everywhere, in 


170 


THREE MONTHS 


life or death. The last words I shall speak 
at the moment of my departure hence, shall 
be taken from it. 

“Lord ! I am come to this hour, in order 
that thy glory may he made known, who 
having so severely afflicted, art now about, 
as I trust, to deliver me out of my trouble ! 
May it please thee, 0 Lord, to complete this 
deliverance ; for, weak as I am, what can 1 
do, or where can I go without thee ? Help 
me, OGod, and I shall fear nothing, through 
Jesus Christ our Lord.” 

March 2, in my father’s house. 

I am with him again; he has just read 
my journal a second time, which I had no 
occasion to leave in the chalet, and he has 
urged me to conclude it. The hurry of 
spirits in which I still remain, after a week 
of happiness, will scarce allow me to relate 
with much regularity the last scene of my 
captivity. Everything turned out quite 
different from what I expected. 

The 24th of February, the cold appeared 
to me severer than ever ; I resolved there- 
fore not to lose a moment. It was necessary 












» 






♦ 



LCUIS RESCUED FROM THE CHALET. 


♦ 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


173 


to open a sufficient passage for tie sledge; 
but I could now throw the snow into the 
chalet, which made the work much more 
easy. I began directly, and proceeded with 
such eagerness that I soon became tired. 1 
was obliged to make a short pause, during 
which I lighted the fire. 

Scarcely had the smoke begun to ascend, 
when I heard a great noise without. My 
first thought was that the wolves had found 
me out, and were coming to devour me. 1 
shut the door hastily. My fears were soon 
dissipated ; I distinctly heard myself called 
by my name, and I thought 1 recognized the 
voice. I replied with all my might. Cries 
of joy proved that I had been heard. 

Immediately a confused sound of voices 
arose near the door, like those of persons 
ur&’ing: one another on at some work. After 
a few minutes, an opening sufficiently large 
completed the work I had begun. 

My father scarcely would wait till the 
passage was practicable ; he rushed into the 
chalet with a loud cry. I was in his arms ! 

“And your grandfather?” said he. i 
was too much affected to answer him. I 


174 


THREE MONTHS 


led him into the dairy. He threw himseli 
on his knees upon the grave ; I did the 
same ; and as I endeavored to relate mi- 
nutely the detail of what had passed, he saw 
by my emotion that the attempt was beyond 
my strength. 

“ Another time, dear child,” said he. 
“ We must not expose ourselves to new mis- 
fortune. Time presses ; our return will not 
be easy.” 

The men who accompanied him had en- 
tered ; they were my two uncles, and our 
servant Pierre. 

They all embraced me. They saw my 
preparations, which were much approved. 
They determined to set out instantly. My 
deliverers had placed under their feet pieces 
of wood armed with small spikes. They 
had brought two other pieces. Alas ! one 
cf them was useless; I put on the other. 

Pierre had the charge of the sledge. 
The wolves might come now if they pleased ; 
we were all armed. My father took my 
hand, and placed a light gun on my 
shoulder. 

“ This is not the time,” said he, “ to re- 


UNDER THE SNOW. 


Fo 

move my father’s remains. We will return 
for them when the season permits, and pay 
(he last duties to him at the village.” 

“ That,” said T, “ was my grandfather’s 
c wn wish.” We then entered the dairy for 
a moment ; my uncles being with us. After 
some moments of silence, 

“ Adieu !” said my father, overcome with 
grief. “ I fulfill your wishes, I am sure, in 
taking this dear child away from here as 
soon as possible ; he has caused as much 
anxiety to you as to us. Adieu, my fa- 
ther !” 

We departed with the tears in our e^es. 
The descent was rapid, hut fatiguing. I 
was much dazzled by the light of the sun 
and the brightness of the snow. The cold 
was intense, but I did not complain of it ; 
for I owed my preservation to it. Blanchette, 
too, owed her life to that icy wind which 
made her shiver on her sledge. 

After traversing the snow, without any 
further accident than sinking in it a little 
n.yw and then, we arrived at the place, still 
a long way from the village, to which a 
road had been opened, in order to make an 


THREE MONTHS 


17G 

attempt to reach us. I was greatly struck 
with the immense labor it must have cost ; 
and I understand that, hut for the frost, I 
could not have been delivered for a long 
time. 

“You would have been set free in the 
month of December if the frost had con- 
tinued, ” said my father ; “ but the snow 
began to thaw, and we had all our labor to 
do over again. Know, dear Louis, that 
our neighbors wanted neither charity nor 
zeal ; but there has never been such a fall 
of snow in the memory of man. Four 
times the road has been opened, and four 
times it has been closed again as completely 
as before.” 

“ Was it closed from the very first day?” 
I asked. 

My father then made me acquainted with 
a very sad occurrence. He all but perished 
in coming down the mountain by the falling 
of a mass of snow : he had been found, ap- 
paiently in a dying state, at the brink of a 
ravine, and near him they had picked up 
my grandfather’s staff and my bottle. 

My father was carried home, and re- 


UNDER TIIE SNOW. 


17 ? 


enabled insensible for three days. All this 
time was lost in searching for us at the 
bottom of the ravine. When my father 
recovered his senses it was too late to make 
any attempt to deliver us, which would 
indeed have been dangerous, if not impos- 
sible, from the very first day. 

I need not speak of the agonies of my 
father, nor of his efforts to save us ; they 
had suffered more in the village than we 
had in the chalet. All our neighbors ran 
out to meet us, and received me with the 
greatest affection ; 1 blushed for ever hav- 
ing doubted it. Every one wants to see 
Blanchette ; she is overwhelmed with ca- 
resses on my account. The choicest hay 
and the best litter is reserved for her ; she 
will be the most feted and the happiest of 
goats. 

God has saved my life, and for that 1 
bless his holy name. He has not permitted 
my grandfather to see his family again ; 
that dear friend, whose loss I deplore, lias 
taught me never to repine at the decrees 
of Providence. But Providence demands 
of me nothing beyond resignation, and will 
12 


178 THREE MONTHS UNDER THE SNOW. 

not be offended at my regrets. My God, 
if I love thee, as it is my duty to do, I owe 
it to him from whom thou hast separated 
me ; make me thy faithful servant, as he 
was, that, through the merits of my Saviour, 
l may be one day reunited to him in heaven 


THE END, 







